Hope Is Overly Used
by theycallmearielle
Summary: Falling for your bestfriend can be complicated.[Loliver]
1. Almost Emergancy Wake Up Calls

My best friends name is Oliver. Oliver has been my best friend since we were three years old. We were three years old fourteen years ago. Fourteen years is a long time to secretly be in love with your best friend. Whose name is Oliver.

_Mailibu, California  
Sunday, November 13, 2007  
2:55 a.m. _

_Ring_

"I'm sleeping." I mumbled to the darkness.

_Ring_

I rolled over and reached blindly for the receiver.

_"Hello?"_

"L-Dog it's me."

_"Oliver? It's three o'clock in the fucking morning. You better be on the verge of death."_

"Well...not exactly."

_"What's wrong?"_

"Nothing's wrong."

_"You said you weren't exactly on the verge of death, meaning you're close."_

"I lied."

_"Shocking. Why are you calling me?"_

"First of all; ouch. Second, I'm calling because I love the sound of your voice."

_"Time and time again you prove that chivalry is, in fact, not dead."_

"Your sarcasm is sexy."

_"Only to the mentally impaired."_

"Playing on my disability isn't fair."

_"You calling me at three a.m. isn't exactly the epitome of reasonable."_

"That just wasn't funny."

_"Forgive me, Oliver, my comebacks are better at four."_

"But that's a whole hour away."

_"Your point?"_

"I need you now."

_"Are you coming on to me?"_

"Please, can I come over? Lils, I promise I'll be quiet. You can go right back to sleep once I get there."

"_Oliver, what's wrong?"_

"Nothing's wrong."

_"Hurry your ass up then, I'm tired."_

"Be there in a tick."

_"You're such a dork."_

"You think it's hot."

_"Uh huh. I'll open my window."_

"Thank you."

_Click _

_Dial Tone_


	2. Late Night Rapers

_Sunday November 13, 2007  
3:13 a.m._

I knew he was there before he even made a sound. I'm not sure how. The energy in the room shifted or something. It became so much more alive, and not just because he was wide awake and I was half out, but because he was just such an alive person. He glowed.

It had always been that way. I could feel him before I could hear, see or smell him. I never knew for certain whether or not this sixth sense went both ways. I'd really like to think that it did.

Seconds after I felt his presence in my room, I heard the window slide shut and soft footsteps patter across my carpet. Then the bed sank, and an arm fell across my shoulders. We laid in silence for a few minutes, just listening to each other breathe. It was exactly what I imagined Heaven would be like, lying under his arm.

"Lizzle?" Oliver whispered into my ear. I rolled over, my back had been to him, and blinked rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was looking at me, his eyes were huge and his bottom lip was sucked into his mouth. He looked like a lost puppy, so innocent and so sad, but very mischievous at the same time.

"Hello, Oliver." I whispered back. He cracked a smile and tucked his arm under his head.

"Do you always let strangers crawl into bed with you?"

"It's just you." I mimicked his movement.

"But how did you know that? For all you knew I was a rapist serial killer." His other arm had slowly slid off of me and was draped casually over his own hip.

My eyebrows rose; "Aren't you?"

"I'm too squeamish to kill people. And you can't rape the willing."

"You're so sure everyone wants you."

"Who could resist me? Honestly?"

"Do you want that list alphabetically?" I tried not to smile. It was too dark to see the deep blush that had crept up my neck, and I thanked god for that every day for a week.

"Ya know," Oliver began, his eyes roaming over me carefully as if he was studying me; "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were insulting me."

"Never." I did my best attempt to sound innocent. Oliver smiled, which meant I failed, and reached forward quickly to pinch my side. I squealed, much to his amusement, and swatted his hand away.

"See, you act tough but you're such a girl on the inside."

"I'm a girl on the outside too, Oliver."

"Well, I'll be goddamned." He winked at me, the white of his eye flashing for a second in the pale moonlight through my window; "So you are."


	3. We Pray To Lord Big Bird On Thursday

_Sunday November 13, 1996  
7:00 a.m._

There was an annoying buzzing sound. I thought for a split second that maybe there was a bee in my room. I considered screaming and rolling onto the floor then under the bed. Then I heard Oliver talking. His stupid cell phone had been on vibrate.

"Yea, I'm not at home." Oliver was saying. He yawned and the bed shifted as he sat up. I squeezed my eyes shut, I could feel his breath on my face as he leaned over to check if I was awake. I guess he bought my acting. The bed jiggled some more.

"Lilly's." He said. I heard him sigh and immediately I knew who was on the other end. Katie Carlo. Oliver's _girlfriend_, Katie Carlo. I resisted the urge to stick my finger down my throat and gag. Instead I made a rather loud snoring noise and mumbled something about Arnold Schwarzenegger and Swiss cheese. Oliver laughed at me and slid out of the bed.

"It's not anything, baby. She's just my friend."

Inwardly, I cringed. I mouthed the words; "Just my friend." Mocking him. I rolled my eyes into my skull and tried to imagine all the ways I could dispose of Katie Carlo.

"Come on, Kat. Don't be like that."

I could knock her out and leave her in the middle of the desert for the rattle snakes and buzzards. There are rattle snakes in the desert, right? Big ugly ones.

"Katie, sweetheart, you're my girl. My only girl."

Or maybe I could tie her to a rail road track like in those old silent movies. I'd even be willing to grow the wicked mustache.

"I love you."

Fuck it. As long as it's not messy I don't care.

"Yea, so, what are you wearing?"

The girl must die.

"Aw, Kat-"

I flung the blanket from the bed and sat up with a loud shriek. Oliver dropped his phone and rushed to my side.

"Lilly, what's wrong?" He bent down in front of me, holding my face and looking into my eyes. I stared at him for a minute then I jerked my head toward the sound of shouting coming from the corner. Oliver followed my gaze and quickly scrambled across the room to get his phone.

"Katie? I'm sorry it--Lil--Katie, baby, I have to go." Oliver hung up, but by the time he turned around I had already laid back down and was feigning sleep.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pencil was on the floor, three feet away. It had fallen off of my desk two minutes ago, and three feet was getting farther and farther away with each tick of the clock. I stared at it, willing it to roll back to me. I tried desperately to summon the Jedi within, Yoda, be my guide. Nothing. With a long, submissive sigh I leaned sideways out of my desk and stretched out my hand. I could feel the smooth wood at the tip of my fingers, when it was snatched up by someone's evil hand. I turned my head at an awkward and uncomfortable angle to see them.

"I picked up your pencil for you." Oliver grinned down at me. I struggled back into my seat.

"Why thank you, Oliver Oscar Oken,Smokin' -"

"Don't finish that."

"-Lover." I batted my eyelashes at him. Oliver cracked a grin and slid into the empty desk across from me. He set my pencil on my desk.

"So what the fuck happened this morning?"

I puckered my lips and swiveled to face the front of the classroom. The teacher was practically asleep behind her desk, and everyone was talking and goofing around.

"Would you still be my friend if I looked like this?" I asked Oliver.

"I would be your friend even if your ass was inside out."

"If my ass was inside out I would look like you."

"In which case we would have to get married and make backward ass babies."

I turned back to Oliver; "Only if we can raise them to worship Big Bird."

"You want our children to pray to a stuffed animal with a hand up its ass?" Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"Big Bird is a guy in a suit, mutha fucka." I did my award winning gangster impression and gave him the west side hand gesture. Oliver narrowed his eyes at me.

"If I allow this puppet worshiping shit to go on then you have to promise to have sex with me at _least_ five days a week."

I made the flirtiest face I could, which made Oliver snort he laughed so hard.

"Okay but never on Thursdays, that's the new day of the lord."

Oliver winked at me; "Alright, never on Thursdays."

"Deal." We shook hands.

"So about this morning..." Oliver began. The bell rang before I had a chance to answer, thankfully. I leapt out of my seat and vaulted over the row of desks between me and the door.

"Peace out, wigga!"


	4. Noses Are The New Nurses

_November 13, 2007  
2:23 p.m._

I thought, maybe, if I puffed out my cheeks far enough, my face would explode. I made a rather unintelligent bet with a friend that I could manage it before he could finish his Mountain Dew Slushy. I passed out and he got severe brain freeze. We both ended up in the nurses office with only a foggy recollection of how we got there in the first place.

"Lils?" Oliver strolled into the white, peroxide smelling room and stared at me. I sat on the edge of the cot with an ice pack to my forehead and my bottom lip sticking out.

"Ello, Oliver." I imitated an English accent. He smiled and sat next to me.

"The office called me down so I could drive you home."

"Finally after all these years they've realized we _are_ attached at the hip."

"Meh, they knew it all along." Oliver moved my hand from the ice pack and held it himself, "They've just stopped trying to separate us."

I struggled against my smile, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

"So how did you hit your head?" Oliver asked, removing the ice pack to examine my bump.

"I was trying to prove to Mitchel that I could blow my own face off." I explained, my eyes on my black and purple Converse.

"You really should leave that to the professionals."

"I am as close to a professional as they come."

"How many times have I told you, if the guys on Jackass can't do it, no one can."

"So you're saying, until Steve--O shoves an entire emu up his nose I shouldn't try?"

"Precisely." Oliver smiled and kissed my forehead then he replaced the ice pack. "How's Mitchel?"

"Catatonic." I bit my lip and glanced over my shoulder at our friend. He was kind of twitching.

"Huh." Oliver looked at him; "Are you resisting the urge to poke him, too?"

"I'd rather stick gummy bears up his nose."

"Do you have some nose fetish I have yet to learn about?" Oliver asked me.

"Now that you mention it." I leaned forward and attempted to stick my finger in Oliver's nose. He swatted my hand away.

"Got any other weird secrets I need to know before we get married?" He stood up. I thought for a second.

"Well I guess I should tell you that I'm madly in love with you."

Oliver grinned and yanked me up by the arm. He wrapped me in a tight hug then started to the door. Just as we reached it, he turned around and ran over to Mitchel. Oliver undid Mitch's belt and slid Mitch's hand inside. Then he rejoined me and we skipped out to the parking lot.


	5. The Ostrich SyndromeIts An Epidemic,Man

_November 13, 1996  
5:11 p.m. _

Oliver brought me home and simply decided to stick around for a few hours. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him to do that, really he probably lived at my house more than his own. Obviously, I liked it that way.

"Do you have any mustard?" Oliver asked me. He was halfway into the refrigerator. I took the opportunity to get a good look at his butt before answering.

"If you can't see it, it isn't there."

"You're such a realist." Oliver backed out of the fridge empty handed and pushed it closed with his hip. "Do you believe in the boogie man?"

"No."

"Santa."

"Nope."

"I know you believe in the Easter Bunny."

"Oliver, please."

"Alright," Oliver hopped up onto the counter beside me; "But I'm making it known here and now that _I_ believe in the Easter Bunny."

I shook my head and smiled; "Of course you do." I ruffled his hair, receiving a jab to my ribcage in response. Just as a loud shrill squeal left my mouth, my mother struggled into the kitchen, shopping bags in both arms.

"Oliver, stop molesting my daughter." She joked with a wink. Oliver cleared his throat.

"Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am." He saluted her. I rolled my eyes and died a little on the inside. My mother and Oliver were as close as if they were family, except they weren't, and my mom had zero reservations about crossing that bright neon line in between.

Oliver hopped down and took one of the bags from my mom, she smiled and thanked him.

"So what are you kids up to tonight?" She asked, setting a bag beside me. I peered into it, reaching down to retrieve a box of animal crackers.

"Well, mother dearest, we figured we'd go out with the bitches and smoke some crack." I answered nonchalantly. Oliver snorted and I looked up to see my mom's infamous 'That's Not Funny, Lillian Rose' look. I smiled; "Just kidding. Oliver's allergic to crack and the bitches scare the shit out of me." I bit the head off of a donkey and did my best to look innocent. My mother just rolled her eyes and Oliver gave me a thumb's up. I flipped him the bird just as my mother turned to look at me. Her jaw dropped and I leapt off the counter and started tucking groceries into various cupboards. I could hear Oliver laughing hysterically. My mother walked past behind me and swatted me gently on the back of the head. I gave her a look and tossed a carton of eggs at Oliver.

"So what are you two _really_ doing?" My mom asked. She sat down at the table, making an exaggerated grunt as she did as if she were really old or something. I shrugged again and opened a bag of Oreos.

"I don't know. Oliver wha--"

"I have a date." He grinned and took the cookie out of my hand and ate it. I just stared at my empty hand with my mouth hanging open and tried to pretend he hadn't just said that.

"Oh, well now, with who?" My mother's over excitement made me nauseous. I pulled a face and pushed the bag of cookies away from me, opting for the carton of ice cream in the plastic grocery bag next to it.

"Katie." Pete grinned again, licking the white frosting off the cookie. I rummaged through a drawer for a spoon and couldn't seem to find one. I cursed inwardly and opened another drawer.

"Where are the spoons?"

"Is she your girlfriend?" My mom asked. I still found no spoon. _What the hell is going on here?_ I thought.

"Why are there no spoons?"

"Yea, going on three months." Oliver said proudly. I dug frantically through a third drawer.

"Seriously, mo--"

"Oliver I'm so happy for you, that's wonderful. Is she pretty?" My mom was leaning forward as if this was the most interesting thing to ever happen in the history of the world. I bent over to peek deep into the back of the drawer.

"Yea." Oliver sighed, I mean actually _sighed_; like in those old black and white romance flicks. He fucking _**sighed**_! And if that wasn't enough, he kept talking; "She's the most beautiful girl in the world."

"God!" I slammed the drawer; "Why the _hell_ can't I find a freaking spoon?! _Where_ are all the spoons?!" I shouted. Both my mother and Oliver looked at me. They stared, open mouthed. I just stood there and blinked. Oliver reached past me into the sink and pulled a spoon out of the strainer. I just looked at it, let out a helpless whine of a sigh and walked away. I went upstairs and shut myself in my room, turned on the stereo; and buried my head in the sand. Like a fucking ostrich. I hate ostriches.


	6. You & Me Till The Wheels Fall Off

_November 13 1996  
5:30 p.m._

The door to my room opened slowly, a long, low creak resonating through the house. I didn't move; my face was smashed into a pillow and I mumbled "Go the fuck away." Although I'm sure whoever was in there couldn't understand me.

"What?" Oliver laughed.

See?

He sat on my bed next to me, his back against the headboard. He didn't say anything else. I turned my head sideways to look at him.

"I said; 'Wud up, yo?'"

"Spoons really get you down then?" Oliver cocked his head to the side; "I mean, if I had known you were that sentimental about your silverware-"

"Not all silverware." I sighed; "But, yea, spoons and me, we go way back." I jerked my head to get my bangs out of my eyes; "I've been using spoons since I was just a baby."

Oliver grinned; "Now's when you pull out your slideshow of pictures of you and some spoon eating ice cream and running on the beach."

I hid my smile; "I only have one of those slideshows."

"Oh yea?" Oliver laughed; "And it's you with your Count Chocula doll, isn't it?"

I shook my head; "I traded him in for limited edition Snap, Crackle and Pop bobble heads."

"Right, so that means the slideshow only has one more option."

I averted my eyes and picked at the embroidery on my comforter; "It's me and you, Oliver." I tried to say it with as much sincerity as possible. I mean, metaphorically, I did only have the one slideshow.

Oliver slid down to lay on his back then rolled onto his stomach and swung an arm around my shoulders. "I was going to guess Dolly Parton. But you and me makes much more sense." He wriggled closer to me and lifted his head to kiss my cheek; "You're right, it's you and me. You and me till the wheels fall off."

Oh, Oliver, if only you knew.

-----------------

**That was short :**

**Very tired.**

**You got enough..for now.**


	7. Dead Teddy Bears Don't Talk

_November 13, 2007  
8:00 p.m. _

"Have you ever seriously considered the impracticality of this entire concept?"

I let my eyes roll sideways to look at the person sitting next to me. Their eyes were fixed on the television, a very contemplative look plastered on their pudgy face.

"I mean, seriously. How did they get that faucet thing inside the Peach pit in the first place?"

I focused back on the screen. I hadn't really even been watching the movie. I had been daydreaming, or more like having a day-nightmare...I kept thinking about what Oliver was doing right that very minute, and who he was doing it with.

"When did the bugs put clothes on? How did they find sweaters with that many sleeves?"

I glanced up at the clock on the wall near the door. Sick. I felt like I had been slumped down on that lumpy couch forever but it had only been a few hours. _I should just go to sleep._ I thought.

"And the aunts sunk in the ocean, right? They get out of their car in New York covered in sea weed and dripping wet. Does that mean I'm supposed to believe that they just _drove_ under the water all the way across the ocean?"

I sighed loudly; "Yes, Mitchel, that is _exactly_ what you are supposed to do." I answered calmly. Mitchel looked at me.

"It's crazy."

"It's a movie."

"But is it too much to ask for them to be realistic?"

"Maybe it's like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, eh?"

"No." Mitchel shook his head disapprovingly. I widened my eyes at the glowing screen.

"I'd be willing to believe it."

Mitchel ignored me and gestured at the screen; "I mean thousands of children are going to watch this movie, and then they're going to think they can drive across the ocean under water and not drown."

"Please, Mitchy, no one's _that_ stupid." I reached sideways into the bowl of popcorn beside me. When Mitchel didn't immediately respond, I shifted my eyes to him and stopped with the popcorn poised at my lips. He was glaring at the TV. I stifled a laugh, "No way."

"Shut up." He grumbled and stood up. I struggled from my position enveloped in the cushions and followed him into the kitchen.

"You really believed you could drive across the ocean?" I asked, a large stupid smile on my face. Mitchel stood on tiptoe and reached into a cupboard pulling down a glass. He ignored me and sided past to the fridge. I put my hands on my hips, "Mitchy." I said sternly. Mitchel turned around and gave me the evilest glare I had ever seen.

"Don't be a retard, Lillian." He growled, "James and the Giant Peach just came out."

"Okay so why the sudden IMS?" I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back against the counter. Mitchel set the bottle of orange juice on the counter beside his still empty glass and sighed.

"You know that fucking book A Little Princess?" He asked, his eyebrows rose half up his forehead so seriously that my barely suppressible laugh struggled up my throat and came out as a hiccup.

"'scuse me." I smiled. Mitchel rolled his eyes at me but continued.

"Okay so, you know how the little girl tells the maid lady that her doll comes to life whenever she leaves the room?" He looked very perplexed, so I nodded quickly. Then it hit me what exactly he had childishly believed.

"Oh my poor, poor Mitchy." I covered my mouth and tried not to laugh. Mitchel shrugged.

"I shut my door and stomped my feet so it would think I was leaving, then I would open the door really fast." He acted out the little scene, as if I couldn't get the full picture without movements. Mitche; shook his head, "Stupid bear was always just sitting there. I did that for two hours straight one day."

"And it didn't occur to you that maybe it was just a toy after all?"

"Nope." Mitchel poured some juice into his glass, "I just figured he was _really_ fast."

I took a few steps toward Mitchel and snatched the dirty trucker hat from his head. He barely got out a protest before I clapped a hand over his mouth. After assuring me he wouldn't curse me out, I moved my hand. I gave him a very serious look and slid his hat onto my head. Then I ruffled his hair, "Maybe he was dead."


	8. Oh What Your Bilingualness Does To Me

_November 14, 2007  
12:15 p.m._

_Ring_

"You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me." I groaned, rolling over and glancing at the clock beside my bed.

_Ring_

"Ahhh, mother fucker." I reached blindly sideways and picked up my phone; "Ciao, come siete? Perche state denominandovelo bastardo ugly?"  
(Hello, how are you? Why are you calling me you ugly bastard?)

"Funny how you can still speak perfect Italian at midnight." The easily recognizable voice on the other end responded.

"L''Oh, Oliver, siete unici e lo spirito innegabile e sia hysterical che estremamente attraente. Perdonimi un momento mentre vomito." I laid back and let out a low sigh.  
(Oh, Oliver, you''re unique and undeniable wit is both hysterical and extremely attractive. Forgive me one moment while I vomit.)

"Ugh, you know what your bilingualness does to me." Oliver made a rather embarrassing groaning sound. I stifled a laugh.

"Pervertito."   
(Pervert)

"Ah ha, you know it, sugar."

"Aww, you called me sugar. I love sugar."

"Me too. I also love frosting, and Lucky Charms."

"So, besides to discuss things that cause the obvious jelly roll I'm developing, why did you call me?"

"You are so not developing a jelly roll."

"I am. And please don't stare at my fat."

"Wendy, shut the fuck up, you're not even close to fat. There isn't even any fat on your body. You're fatless. In fact if anything you're too skinny, you're like paper."

"Thank you, that does wonders for my self esteem."

"Self esteem is over rated."

"Peter Pan, I need to sleep before I wither away to nothing."

"Call me Peter Pan in Italian and I'll bring you some fairy dust."

"What the hell am I going to do with fairy dust?"

"You can come to Never Neverland and plunder my pirate ship."

"Oh for fuck's sake."

"Now in Italian."

"L''Oh nell''interesse della scopata."

"Oh yea." Another throaty groan sounded from his end of the line. I felt myself blush and shifted with slight embarrassment despite my pitch black surroundings. Although I would never openly admit to it, I enjoyed "teasing" him.

"Ew, control yourself. I'm still slightly uncorrupted over here and I'd like to stay that way."

"Let me come over and I'll fix that for you."

I paused, unsure whether or not to take him seriously. Finally, still unsure, I cleared my throat, "Have you been drinking?"

"No. I just miss you. It's been hours."

"Oliver, why are you calling?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"It's past midnight, sooo, yes." I waited patiently for a few minutes while he must have been thinking. Then I smiled as he laughed lightly and answered.

"You're my best friend, Lilly. I wuvvles you."

I rolled my eyes, because even though I hated him for only saying best friend, I loved him all the same, "Apriro la finestra mia."  
(I'll open my window.)

_Click_

_Dial tone_


	9. Judd Nelson Is Hardcore

_November 20, 2007_

Nearly a week passed from watching James and The Giant Peach with Mitchel and then sleeping with a very evasive and horny Oliver. That's right, evasive and horny. Particularly obnoxious combination. He kept making insinuative comments and when I asked him about his date he shrugged and told me it was good. Like I said, evasive.

I was very unlike Oliver to simply shrug off an opportunity to talk about Katie. He didn't realize the very thought of her made me physically ill. I've always been a terrific actor.

But I put it out of my mind, and over that week things were pretty much normal. Or as normal as things ever were with Oliver.

And so came the twentieth. The twentieth was more than just another day, the twentieth is my birthday. And Oliver's. It's always been one of the coolest things about our friendship; having the same birthday. And we always spent our birthday together, sitting at one of our houses watching every John Hughes movie we could get our hands on and feasting on Snack Packs and frozen Lasagna. It didn't matter how many parties were being held or who wanted to do what with us in celebration; me and Oliver always stuck with our tradition.

"So Mitch, what did you get me?" I asked sweetly as I slid onto the bench beside Mitchel. It was lunch time and our little group of homies had gathered in the usual spot, at the usual table in the usual corner of the reeking cafeteria. Mitchel glared at me over the spoon hanging out of his mouth.

"Why would I get you anything?"

"Because you love me and I'm pretty."

"You have the sweetest delusions."

I let my jaw fall open and glanced, horrified, around the table. Everyone just smiled back at me. I turned to Oliver on my other side for some kind of defense, but he was staring off into space ignoring both our conversation and his French fries. I nudged him.

"Oliver?"

"Hmm?"

"What's with the lack of back having?" I asked as I pulled the aluminum top off of my Jell-O cup. He blinked at me slowly then glanced at our friend Nick across the table.

"Don't look at me, I don't speak her language." He held up his hands and leaned back. Oliver looked back at me.

"Sorry." Was all he said. I stopped mid bite of my desert and stared at him.

"Uh, it's cool." Then I looked at Mitchel. He looked just as confused by Oliver's lack of sarcastic enthusiasm as I was. Oliver was never void of some kind of witty remark or wise-assery. The table was silent for a few minutes, everyone picking at their food awkwardly. I chewed thoughtfully on my Jell-O and stared at Oliver. When he finally looked at me, I fluttered my eyelashes at him, making him crack a small smile.

"So are you two having your usual junk food and crappy movie binge tonight?" Nick asked, his arm draped casually over the shoulders of his girlfriend and my best female friend, Alexis.

"Don't diss the Breakfast Club, biznatch. Judd Nelson is hardcore." I pointed my spoon at him, "And of course we are, right Ollie?"

Oliver was too hesitant about confirming. Everyone's heads turned slowly to him, all of us slightly unnerved by his strange mood. Finally he answered, "Um, I actually have to go somewhere." He wouldn't look at me.

No one said anything. I stared down into my cup and tried desperately to still the nervous and hurt butterflies that had begun savagely swirling around in my stomach and chest, "Yea? Where?"

"My parents want to take me out for dinner."

"Oh--"

"You know, turning eighteen is a big deal I guess--"

"Well if your parents want you to go with them then it's fine--"

"I mean its not that I don't want to hang out--"

"You can't go and disappoint your parentals--"

"We can get together tomorrow too--"

"Parents are pretty special things, yea, and eighteen is a big deal--"

"If you want to--"

"It's cool-"

"It's cool?"

"Uh..." I hesitated, really wanting him to come with me, then I set my Jell-O down and folded my hands in my lap, "Yea, it's cool. Don't worry about it, we'll just do something tomorrow then." I gave him the best smile I could without actually looking at him. Oliver's hand found its way onto my back.

"Thanks, Lillyroo." His voice had gone back to the normal happy--go--lucky overly--excited Oliver Oken we all knew, and so I tried not to feel especially bitter at him for ditching our tradition.

"Oh, shit, I gotta go. I have a test next period and I don't have a fucking clue what's going on in there." Oliver got up suddenly, as if he hadn't just disrupted a birthday theme almost ten years running. He planted a quick kiss to my head and waved to the rest of the gang then he walked off out of the room. I just stared at the table top and avoided making eye contact with anyone at the table. They all knew how much our birthday meant to me and how much it had always meant to Oliver. His parents knew that we did this every year, what was their problem? I tried to shove it out of my mind. How depressing.

"Lilly?" Alexis called from across the table. I looked up slowly. She looked like she was feeling sorry for me. I hate it when people look at me like they feel sorry for me. You can feel sorry for me all you want, just don't look at me like you do.

"Yes?"

"There's a party tonight. You should come with us. It'll be fun." She said carefully, like she was afraid I might bite her, "You know, since you're not busy anymore."

I frowned and opened my mouth to say something bitter and sarcastic but Nick cut me off.

"Come on, it'll take your mind off things." He covered for his girlfriend, "Besides, you shouldn't sit by yourself on your eighteenth birthday." He gave me puppy dog eyes and jutted out his lower lip. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Well I suppose I can make an appearance." I sighed, "Since I'm not busy anymore." I forced a laugh so they would think I was really okay. I was trying very hard to be alright with this, it was just one birthday after all. One out of how many that we spent together? It was no big deal, it wasn't his fault if his parents wanted to take him out to dinner, right? No. It wasn't. Nope.


	10. When All Else Fails, Beer Bong!

_November 20, 2007_

That night, at about nine, I stood in front of my mirror, fidgeting with the end of my skirt and chewing on my lip. I had been to thousands of parties, but Oliver was always at these parties to protect me from the scary jocks and drunken cheerleaders. This time he would be sitting in some fancy restaurant with his parents eating weird French food and talking about life while I gulped down gallons of Jack Daniels and inhaled second hand marijuana with strangers and weirdos. I sighed and briefly debated calling Alexis to cancel. I didn't like going it alone. And alone is how I would truly be going it. Although I would arrive with Nick, Alexis and Mitchel, I would inevitably end up alone. Nick and Alexis would go off together to make out and Mitchel would be drawn to the pot like a moth to a flame. So I would spend my eighteenth birthday virtually alone in a cloud of smoke and a sea of hormonal teens.

Ahh, the irony.

A car horn honked outside and I skipped down the stairs and out the front door with a shout of goodbye to my mother. Nick's black car was parked crookedly along the curb and Amelia leaned out the window, already half in the bag, to blow a perfect smoke ring into the dark, cool air. I slid into the backseat along with Mitchel and boy I had seen a few times but never really spoken too.

"Hello." I said to him. He smiled shyly and shook my hand.

"That's David." Alexis told me with a giggle; I could see clearly from the backseat that Nick's hand was on her thigh, and I inwardly groaned knowing that they probably wouldn't even get out of the car.

"And she's Lilly." Mitchel told David. We both smiled at each other.

"It's your birthday?" David asked me. I nodded. He nodded. We nodded.

"Yes." I said quickly.

"Uh, happy birthday." He said awkwardly. I smiled.

"Uh, thank you."

The rest of the car ride was filled with absurd giggles from the front seat and Mitchel singing from the back. I don't know if he was tuning out Alexis and Nick or if he was already slightly stoned, but his usually beautiful singing was off key and nauseating.

We finally reached the party and I practically leapt out of the car, David only seconds slower than me on the other side. I shot him an understanding smile over the roof and headed toward the house. The minute I crossed the threshold someone handed me a plastic cup of something dark. I stared into and seriously debated drinking it. I already felt like I needed a drink, and not just because I was eighteen and wanted to get plastered, because I was feeling depressed and neglected and annoyed.

Someone pinched my ass and disappeared into the crowd. I set the cup down on the table beside me and moved on, opting for a fresh beer rather than the possible roofie awaiting me in that cup.

The house was extremely crowded. I didn't know very many of the people, but that didn't matter. I smiled at anyone who made eye contact and usually they smiled back or said hello. I didn't bother checking behind me for Mitchel or David or the others, I knew they weren't there, and part of me wanted to lose them.

I found my way to the kitchen and the alcohol. With a long and dramatic sigh I popped open a bottle of beer and took a thorough swig. The cold liquid flowed through me and seemingly cleansed me of some of the tension in my body. I liked the thought of being cleansed, so I drank the rest of it. And at least four more. I don't know for sure, I didn't even bother counting. Time became something like a stop motion film. I remember setting down an empty bottle and then suddenly I was standing in the middle of the dining room with a beer bong as the gathering crowd around me cheered. I know I saw Mitchel's face, complete with red glazed eyes, watching me. He was cheering along with everyone else. I bet if he wasn't stoned he would have stopped me.

After the beer bonging, I found my way into the living room and onto the couch with some boy in a letter jacket with badly groomed facial hair and a tongue stud. I made out with him for a while, and gave him my number before rushing up the stairs and, with some unusual stroke of luck, into the bathroom to hurl into the toilet.

Then there's a long period of nothing, just nothing. I don't know how much time passed, but later I found out it wasn't very long at all. Something like, twenty minutes, before I opened my eyes and got up from the bathroom floor. There was a girl passed out on the floor next to me, and a boy in the bathtub. The shower was running, and he was wearing nothing but a leopard print thong and big plastic Patrick Swayze sunglasses. I averted my eyes and rinsed out my mouth. I felt incredibly sober right then. It's amazing what a good vomit will do for you.

I stumbled tiredly out of the bathroom and started down the hall. I was going to find Nick and Alexis, I wanted to go home. I had gone to the party like they wanted, I had gotten my mind off of things. It was great. Sarcasm, it's lovely.

I leaned against the wall for some support, I felt very exhausted, and my body was still shaking from throwing up. As I passed over numerous closed doors I tried not to giggle at the sound of what the occupants were doing. I'm very mature, as you see. _**At least they're considerate enough to shut their doors, even if they aren't being very discrete about their activities.**_ I thought. My thought was interrupted, however, as I slid passed a door that _wasn't_ shut all the way. It swung open when I leaned against it, startling the couple inside. I fell sprawled across the floor and considered pretending to be unconscious so they wouldn't think I was some creepy pervert.

"I'm sorry!" I began, before even getting off the floor, "I wasn't spying! I swear, I'm not some weird, pervy crack head! I was just wandering down the hallway after puking and--"

"Lils?" The boy in the room asked. Something about the way this easily recognizable voice said my name made my stomach plummet. I sat up on my knees and looked up at the couple. I almost threw up again.

"_**Oliver**_" I asked, shocked, "What are you doing here?"

He just stared down at me, and I realized very suddenly that he was not only shirtless but pants less. And he was not alone. I didn't even hide the look of incredulous and painful disbelief on my face as I covered my eyes with my hand and crawled out of the room. As I rounded the corner I reached up and pulled the door shut, ignoring Oliver calling my name as I did so.

_November 21, 2007_

3:30 a.m.

_Ring_

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. My eyes were red and sore from hours of confused and angry crying.

_Ring_

Those same eyes shifted painfully sideways to glance in the direction of the ringing. I knew who it was.

_Ring_

I reached over slowly and curled my numb fingers around the receiver. I lifted it up, and set it back down. Then I picked it back up and let it drop to the floor.

_Empty dial tone_

I rolled over and stared out my window, closing my tired eyes as more tears began to fall. Eventually I managed to cry myself to slee


	11. Beautiful Disaster

_Two Days Later_

Oliver called me every twenty minutes. Every time he called I asked my mom to tell him I was sick and losing my voice and that I would call him as soon as I could. She believed me. I knew he would be able to see through it. But he never ratted me out to her; whether it was because he was that good of a friend not to rope my mother into our little spat or if it was just because he was embarrassed...it didn't matter. It would be pretty embarrassing on both parts.

Then finally came the unavoidable physical visit. I guess he got sick of the cold shoulder and decided to just drop by. When the door bell rang I was lying on the couch, my face flat against the cushion, staring at the TV. I could feel a pool of drool begin to mix with the damp stain from my tears shed almost an hour ago.

My mother answered the door and I looked up as he very slowly came into the room. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his hair was slightly askew and he looked very ashamed of himself. For a brief second I felt bad about being angry. A very brief second.

"Hi." He said to me softly. I stared up at him, mentally daring him to say something stupid in front of my mother. He just stood there and looked back at me. Maybe he was trying to share an apology through telepathy. It was all lost in translation.

"Lils, can I talk to you?" He asked, glancing back at my mom. I blinked at him and then looked away.

"I'm watching something right now, can it wait?"

Oliver turned and looked at the TV then back at me, "It's not even on."

"'It's not even on.'" I mocked him and sat up. I got up and shoved past him into the kitchen, where I gathered a bowl and a carton of eggs from the fridge before he appeared behind me.

"Why haven't you been taking my calls?" He asked quietly. Now that mom wasn't in the room he had found his voice. I cracked an egg and dropped it's contents into my bowl, but I didn't answer him.

"Lilly?"

"I was sick." I said simply, cracking another egg. Oliver sighed.

"I know you weren't sick."

"Oh, well, so you're not a complete moron after all." I smiled curtly at the yellow glop in front of me and cracked one more egg.

"Okay, I deserved that." Oliver said and flinched when I nodded. I moved sideways and reached around Oliver to get a whisk out of the drawer. He moved to accommodate me, even though I acted as if he wasn't there.

"Lils I--" Pete began, but I cut him off.

"Sorry, I'm a little busy right now."

"Come on, Li--"

"Too busy to talk."

"Even to _me_?" His voice went up in an attempt at cuteness. I was too angry for it to affect me.

"Especially to you." I answered.

"Lillian--"

"Busy!" I sang.

Oliver sighed, "Doing what?"

"I'm whisking."

"Oh, Lilly, please just listen to m--"

"_**Whisking!**_" I shouted in a shrill sing song voice. Oliver shut up and let out a long sigh. I continued with my fervent whisking for a few very long and very silent minutes. Then I pushed the bowl aside and turned around to face him. I leaned back against the counter, my hands firmly gripping its edge behind my back. He was leaning against the opposite counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was watching me carefully, and his beautiful eyes looked big and sad. I licked my lips contemplatively.

"You didn't go with your parents at all, did you?" I asked. There was a long pause during which my question hung in the air like a pungent odor. Oliver's eyes stayed locked with mine but he shook his head slowly. I nodded, "So that's why you were acting so weird at lunch. You felt bad because you were lying to me."

Oliver sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and nodded. I felt the pressure of oncoming tears push at the back of my eyes and sting the back of my throat. I forced them down and let out a sardonic laugh.

"God, Oliver, try not to look so fucking guilty." I said quietly, "I mean, if you're going to lie to me don't ruin it for yourself by growing a conscience."

Oliver's mouth opened and closed a few times then he took a slow step toward me and put his hands on my shoulders, "I'm so--"

"Don't!" I pushed him away and stepped out of his reach. The tears were starting to beat me and I wiped at my eyes quickly before crossing my arms over my chest, "You fucking _**lied**_ to me, Oliver! _**You lied**_! How am I supposed to just blindly trust you now? You're my best friend, Oliver!" I shouted, "My _**best**_ friend. That's supposed to mean something."

"It does." Oliver whispered. His voice coming out almost as a squeak.

"Then why did you ditch me to have sex with that...hussy you call a girlfriend?"

Oliver stared at me for a minute before the corners of his mouth began twitching, "Hussy?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, "It's not funny. Don't laugh." I growled.

Oliver's face contorted and he struggled very noticeably for a long time before he snorted loudly. I stepped forward and smacked him. It only made him laugh harder.

"Oliver Oscar Oken!" I scolded, now holding back my own threatening laughter, "Stop laughing, we're having a fight."

Oliver managed to get his laughter under control by taking a long cleansing breath and passing a hand over his face very slowly. Watching him do that, made me snort with amusement. While I was uninhibited by my laughter, Oliver reached forward and wrapped me in a tight, almost suffocating hug. He buried his face in my hair with his mouth against my ear and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. I love you. Forgive me?"

I didn't fight him. As soon as my giggles surpassed I buried my face in the crook of his neck and squeezed my eyes shut. Oliver could always get to me like that. There was no fighting him, he was a force to be reckoned with. A beautiful, amazing force of nature. And I was caught in his path, a helpless victim to this unbelievable disaster. But not so much a disaster as a masterpiece. He was a work of art. I was enraptured.


	12. That's Right, Snack Packs

_November 23, 2007  
Time has become more than irrelevant..._

"This assignment is extremely important, not only for your semester grade but for your future."

I puffed out my cheeks, crossed my eyes and started quietly humming the theme song to Green Acres.

"It will teach you the many responsibilities and compromises involved in parenthood and marriage."

Green Acres turned into the Oscar Mayer Weiner song, and the cuticle on my right pointer finger became very fascinating.

"Hopefully, it will help you make slightly more informed decisions about sex and relationships at your current age."

I bit off my cuticle and got a speck of blood on my notebook. The speck was shaped a lot like Jimmy Carter.

"You and your partners will make a Life Plan. You'll pick careers out of the Career Box, find a living quarters from the newspaper, and create a budget. The budget _must_ include education expenses for your child simulation."

If Jimmy Carter had married Sponge Bob Squarepants...well that would have been weird.

"Here are your partners..."

I was partnered with Oliver. Life was getting ironically ironic. God I fucking hate irony.

Even though he tricked me into accepting his pathetic apology, although I would have melted to him eventually anyway, I was still extremely hurt. He lied to me and ditched me on our birthday to have sex with his stupid little girlfriend. Apparently, it was her gift to him for his eighteenth birthday. What. A. Whore.

A ball of paper hit me on the head and landed on my desk, abolishing poor Jimmy and squashing my dreams of a yellow crustacean president. I looked up and saw Oliver smiling at me from across the room. I smiled back and uncrumpled the paper.

**should we get sacrificial seed for big bird? i'd like a good crop this year. BTW its not thursday wink wink**

A slow smile spread itself across my face and I glanced at Oliver. He was making a very suggestive hand gesture that made me blush horribly. He shot me a wink and grinned cheekily. I laid my head down on my desk to hide my face and tried to remember the pledge of allegiance.

_Lunch_

"So, do we get to name the baby?" Oliver dangled the plastic doll in front of his face and cocked his head to the side, studying it. There was a rather amusing look of confusion and slight terror on his face. It made me smile.

"Yea, of course." I answered and went back to writing down the address of the apartment we had picked from the housing section. Oliver set the doll in the grass in front of him and carefully undid the Velcro jumpsuit it wore. He pulled the suit around the dolls ankles and stared at it's naked body.

"What the fuck are you doing, Oliver?" Mitchel snorted, his own doll laying carelessly discarded in his back pack behind him.

"I'm checking it for a dick, stupid." Oliver scoffed, as if it should have been obvious.

"And?" Nick chuckled. He had dumped his doll on his partner in the library when it started crying hysterically. Oliver frowned and redressed our baby.

"It sure as hell isn't a boy."

"Then we're naming it Winnifred." I said simply. Everyone turned to look at me.

"Winnifred?" Mitchel repeated mockingly, as if the name tasted sour. I had been writing but I looked up slowly and nodded.

"Yes, Winnifred Agnes."

"Winnifred Agnes Oken." Nick toppled over in amusement as he spoke, "That's fucking beautiful."

"Damn Lilly, your kid's gonna get her snack pack stolen." Patrick shook his head and took a bite out of his apple. I curled my upper lip at them and rolled my eyes.

"Well I like it, Lils." Oliver smiled smugly at the other guys and dropped an arm around my shoulders. I glanced at him and smiled.

"Thank you, Ollie."

"Ooo Ollie-Pie to the rescue. Look at you being all chivalrous and shit." Nick sneered. He ripped open a bag of Cheetos.

"Fucking-a right." Oliver nodded his head authoritatively, "I'm a father now, chivalry comes with the package."

"Does bad hair and a voice that causes entire cities to implode come in that package also?" Mitchel fluttered his eyelashes at Oliver and picked at the peel on his apple.

Oliver's mouth hung open in shock, "Well at least I write my own lyrics, biznatch."

I chuckled as Nick made a sizzling sound indicating the severity of Oliver's burn. It was funny, even though the two, without each other's talents, would probably be little to nothing. Then came a strange whining sound from near Oliver's crotch.

"Uh, Oliver..." I began.

"Oliver, switching the ending words to phrases from Dr. Seuss does _not_ qualify as 'your own lyrics'." Mitchel leaned forward. Nick gave Mitchel a high-five, showing his lack of loyalty to either side. The noise came again, and I looked at our baby. Oliver had it tucked in his lap, stuck between his thighs so that in order to take it I would have to chance touching his...down-there area. I cleared my throat.

"Oliver the ba--"

"Don't hate, don't hate." Oliver's voice hitched up with his attempt at ghetto, "I see how it is. You can go right ahead and sing my songs but giving me some well do credit is beneath you?"

"Psh, you think you're the shit because you can rhyme."

I tugged on Oliver's sleeve, "Oliver, the baby is--"

"At least I _can_ rhyme."

"Cat and Hat haven't counted since the second grade."

"Well excuse me, your Highness." Oliver's voice was rank with playful resentment, "If you don't like my lyrics by all means write your own."

"For real, Oliver--"

"Maybe I will." Mitchel mocked Oliver's childish manner.

"Ol--"

"Fine."

"I--"

"Fine."

"_**Il bambino fucking sta gridando, Oliver!"**_ I shouted.

Oliver's attention snapped to me. A flash of well contained "excitement" passed over his features, then a look of confusion took over, "Wait, what?"

"The baby is fucking crying, Oliver." I pointed to his lap. He looked even more confused for a second before he looked down and gasped.

"Oh!" He scooped up the screaming doll and stared at it, "Uh...I...here." He handed it to Mitchel.

"Dude, I'm not your partner!" Mitchel squealed and held the doll at arms length as if were going to bite him. Of course it's simulated crying was very life like and getting even higher in pitch. I groaned and reached out to take the baby. I cradled it in my arms and shushed it, singing very softly and rocking it back and forth. After a few long minutes of nothing but the boys silence and my very Disney-esque mothering tactics, the doll stopped screaming and went into sleep mode. I looked up at the faces of all three boys staring at me. Nick looked creeped out and Mitchel looked shocked, but the look on Oliver's face was something I really couldn't place. There was an odd little smile and his eyes gave an unusual sparkle. It made my stomach flip and fill up with nervous butterflies.

"That was...scary." Nick shuddered, "Lizzle acting all maternal was enough to give me nightmares for life."

I was too busy staring back at Oliver to send him a glare or flick him off.

"I never would've thought...it just went right to sleep." Mitchel was still staring at the doll, "I mean I had to smash mine against my locker to shut it the fuck up."

"You're just parentally challenged." Nick popped a Cheeto into his mouth, "Or it hates you." Then he glanced at me again and visibly shuddered.

Oliver's smile grew into a toothy grin, "That was so cool, Lilly." He said softly.

"Cool?" I repeated. The way he was smiling at me was making me shake.

"Yea. I've never seen that side of you."

"Well I'm not surprised. How many babies has she had to silence?" Nick said sarcastically. He chewed thoughtfully on his food then shook his head, "God, am I the only one thoroughly disturbed by that whole thing?"

There was a short silence before Oliver answered with a faint nod, "Yea."


	13. It's Hard Being Vertically Challenged

_Saturday_

Two days later I stood on the sidelines, cradling little Winnifred Agnes to my chest and ignoring her cries as I screamed encouragement to Oliver until my throat hurt. I couldn't hear her over the rest of the crowd anyways, they were all yelling and jumping up and down with excitement as our high school soccer team scored goal after goal after goal against the neighboring town.

"Go Peter Pan!" I shouted, and leapt into the air as he kicked the ball into the net once again, nearly dropping Winnifred.

"That's terrible parenting." Mitchel commented from beside me. I glared at him.

"At least I know where my baby is. " I shot back. Mitchel hadn't touched his doll since the day we were given the assignment. Luckily for him, he had an obsessive compulsive control freak named Summer for a partner and hadn't been asked to take part anyway.

"Summer has me paying child support." He said with a shrug. I shifted the doll in my arms and attempted to shoot him a questioning look without taking my eyes off of Oliver on the field. He had the ball again and was barreling toward the goalie, looking very hot all sweaty and determined I might add. Someone from the other team got in his way so he passed the ball to Nick, who shot it swiftly into the net. Mitchel and I erupted with cheers along with the rest of the crowd. I tried to clap, and Winnifred slid out of my arm. I caught her by the ankle making her break out into an ear splitting wail.

"Fuck." I muttered and started patting her back and shushing her. Mitchel took a moment to remove his sweatshirt carefully; probably so his Tic Tac's wouldn't tumble out of the pocket. It was auspiciously warm out that day, perfect for the game, and everyone was clad in t-shirts and some were even in shorts,Mitchel had only worn a sweatshirt so he could hide his bloodshot eyes with his hood until they cleared up.

He set it aside on the ground by his feet and cupped his mouth to shout at Oliver, David and Nick, "Go, mother fuckers! Pandoseph!" He whooped loudly in my ear then turned to me, "Summer likes yellow gummy bears."

"What?"

"Every day I buy a bag of gummy bears and pick out all the yellow ones. That's my child support payments."

"Sounds like a lot of gummy bears." I turned around to dig through my messenger bag behind me and pulled out the electronic bottle. I pressed it against Winnifred's mouth to "feed" her.

"It is." Mitchel stared down at the quieted baby with what I can only describe as pure fear, "But it's worth it."

"You're such a loser, Mitch." I sighed.

"That's my baby!" Oliver shouted from the field. I looked up to see him dancing around in the middle of the field, pointing at me. I felt a slow but fierce blush creep up my neck and glanced around at all the people now staring at me. Some looked very judgmental, probably assuming the feeding bundle in my arms was a real baby. I waved quickly at Oliver who blew me a kiss and took off after the ball.

"It's all he talks about lately." A woman's voice said behind me. I turned around to see Oliver's mom smiling at me.

""Hi, Mrs. Oken. How are you?""

""Fantastic, Lillian. Hello Mitchel.""

Mitchel smiled and looked away to hide the redness in his eyes. Oliver's mom didn''t even notice.

"Oliver's absolutely smitten with the idea of you being the mother of his baby."

I felt the blush intensify and I glanced down at Winnifred, "Really?" I laughed to cover my nervous excitement.

"Yea, he keeps telling me how you're a natural. How he thinks you look so beautiful when you sing to it. I mean I keep having to remind him that it's just a pretend assignment for class and that you're not really married." She laughed, "Although I will say the thought does have it's appeal for me as well." She gave me a quick wink.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't remove the massive grin from my face. The crowd, once again, went up in a simultaneous cheer and I shot a look to the game to see Oliver with his arms in the air, turning away from the goal. Nick and David along with some other teammates ran up to him and slammed their stomachs together or leant their foreheads against each other's and screamed. Boys are strange creatures.

"So where's Oliver's dad?" I asked, turning back to his mom with a smile. The look of happy contentment faltered on her face for a fraction of a second before she answered.

"He couldn't make it." She said softly, and covered the awkward answer with a cheer, "Go Ollie!" She hollered. Oliver turned mid jog and waved at her, not missing a beat in the game. I studied his mother for a minute before brushing off the weird, sick feeling I got when she told me he "couldn't make it". Oliver's dad never missed his games. Granted he was a very competitive father and didn't always give the most encouraging comments from the stands, I knew he was proud of Oliver and it was very strange not having him there. Mitchel nudged my side and when I looked over he gave me a questioning look. He didn't like this either.

We won the game, more than double the opposing team's points, and the group of us went out to eat to celebrate.

"You guys were so great today." Alexis gushed and pressed a kiss to Nick's cheek. He, Oliver and David were all sticky and smelled like sweat and mud. But I didn't protest when Oliver squished into the booth with me and Mitchel, pressed against me, his bare knee touching my covered one. In fact I was more than happy for the hot, sticky contact.

"Thanks, baby." Nick wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she immediately pushed it off.

"Okay, Nick I love you and all, but you stink."

"Ouch." He stuck out his bottom lip and leaned on the table. We all laughed and I pretended not to notice when Oliver put his lips around the straw of my peppermint milkshake.

"Dude, it was a really kick ass game though." Mitchel said, popping a French fry into his mouth.

"Yea that means nothing coming from you, stoner boy." David joked. Mitchel stopped, mid bite, a fry hanging out of his mouth and stared at David.

"I resent that." He mumbled, "I was only _slightly_ high."

"Yea guys, geez, cut him some slack." I defended him.

"Thanks, Lilly." He said.

"Your welcome." I dipped a fry in Oliver's chocolate milkshake and ate it, "I mean, if he needs to smoke a little every now and then to calm his nerves, its no big deal, ya know it's really hard being vertically challenged, isn't it Mitch?" I smiled at him. Everyone burst into laughter but Mitchel, who just stared at me, open mouthed.

"I'll remember that, Lillian Rose Truscott."

"Ooo he busted out the full name on you, Lil, I think that means it's serious." Nick laughed.

"As serious as a gastric bypass." Mitchel did a ghetto head bob and snapped his fingers. All I could do was snort and laugh so hard my stomach hurt.

"Lilly, don't spewk." Alexis reached across the table and patted my head.

"Yea, Lils, just breathe." David laughed. I finally finished laughing and sat up, wiping at the tears that had formed in the corners of my eyes. I turned and looked at Oliver, who was smiling at me. He wiggled his eyebrows and winked suggestively.

"Do I get a congratulatory kiss?" He asked. I let out a strangled, nervous laugh.

"Right, Oliver."

"So that's a no?"

"That's a hell no." I picked up a French fry to distract myself from the cute pouty look he was giving me.

"Come on, Lils, you know you want to."

Ha, you don't know how right you are.

"Oh give him a kiss, Lilly." Joe took a large bite of his burger, "It's your duty as the best friend."

"Yea in the absence of the girlfriend, you take over all the girlfriendy things." David helped encourage. Despite the fact that Oliver and I had officially put that whole birthday fiasco behind us, I still didn't like the mention of Katie.

"Like congratulatory kisses." Alexis joined in. I glanced at Mitchel, who shrugged and busied himself with the napkin holder.

"Okay, fuck them, fuck Katie, fuck best friend duties." Oliver shifted so that he leaned on the table slightly in front of me, "I just want to kiss you."

Those words will forever be branded into my brain.

I stared at Oliver and blinked. It was all I could do not to forget to breathe. I swallowed the lump that had quickly formed in my throat when my heart leapt out of my chest, and gave a weak nod. Oliver's lips twisted into a satisfied and slightly cheeky smile as he leaned forward and kissed me softly.

It was very chaste, our lips just sort of rested against each other's. But it was amazing. And it lasted a lot longer than I thought it would. When Oliver didn't almost immediately pull away, our table let out a slow cat call. They started wooting and whistling and clapping. A smile cracked on both of our faces and Oliver pulled away.

"Well now." Nick wore a broad, smug grin as he clapped his hands slowly, "That was intense."

"Oh, shut up, Nick." Alexis scolded playfully, "Leave them alone." She had whispered the last part to him, and she was giving us this look like she knew something the rest of them didn't. I caught her eyes for a split second and blushed madly.

Way to give yourself away, Lilly..

Oliver got very quiet the rest of the night, and although he didn't directly make eye contact with me even once, I caught him staring at me numerous times. There was something disconcerting about the look in his eyes. He looked kind of scared and confused. He had never looked at me that way before, and it made me very nervous.

_**That Night 2:00 AM**_

_Ring_

"No, please don't take my poodle..."

_Ring_

"I swear I won't eat the Jell-O anymore..."

_Ring_

"Eight spiders..."

**WAAAAAAAAAA**

"AHHHH!!" I sat upright and glanced around frantically. My eyes landed on the screaming baby on the floor beside my dresser. I let out a long sigh, "Oh fuck me Freddy."

_Ring_

I looked at the phone beside my bed. Then at my clock, "Freddy fuck me sideways."

**WAAAAAAAAAA**

"Yea, I'm coming ho--"

_Ring_

"Alright, alright, kee--"

**WAAAAAAAAA**

"ARGH!" I screamed and flopped back on my bed. I listened to the wailing and the phone for five more seconds before I grabbed my pillow and flung it across the room to hit the doll. Then I rolled sideways and ripped the phone from the hook.

**WAAAAAAAAA**

"Shut the _**fuck**_ up!" I shouted at the doll.

"Lilly?" Came the voice on the other end.

"Sorry, Oliver, that fucking baby is screaming again." I rolled out of bed and staggered across to the doll. I scooped it up and started bouncing it up and down and pacing across the room.

"It's all good." He sighed. I paused in my pacing, but didn't say anything. I could hear Oliver breathing but neither of us said a word. The baby began to settle down and only a soft, hiccupping coo emanated from the rubber bundle in my arms. The sudden silence was freaky.

"Oliver, are you alright?" I asked slowly. There was an extended pause and if I hadn't heard him shift I would have thought he had hung up. "Oliver?"

"No, yea, I'm alright." He said quickly, "I just...hey I'll see ya tomorrow, Lilly. Let's go to the park with Winnifred, okay?"

I frowned, "Sure."

"Bye, Lil."

"Bye, Oliver."

_Click_

_Dial Tone_


	14. I Think You're Worth More Than A Penny

_Sunday_

The next day, the sky was gray and the air was cool. It whipped my long hair behind me and across my face so I was constantly squinting and tucking it behind my ears. Oliver had come over at nine and woken me up by simply standing over me until I opened my eyes and screamed. Then he let me get dressed and made me promise to spend the entire day with him. I tugged on a pair of old worn out, holey blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt advertising the coffee shop I worked at two years ago. I barely had time to dig Winnifred out of the pile of blankets at the foot of my bed before Oliver shoved me out the door.

We walked slowly across the grass at the park, Oliver was holding Winnifred and playing with her absently, probably as a distraction from whatever was wrong with him. And something was definitely wrong. He wasn't his usual self and it was really bothering me. Beside the fact that he was just down right depressing me with his overly calm and passive attitude, but he wasn't offering over what the problem was, and that hurt.

There weren't very many people playing at the park. A few kids on the jungle gym and in the sandbox. An elderly couple sitting on a bench and throwing bread crumbs at nonexistent pigeons. A mother and a father reclining in the grass and watching their children running and squealing around the playground. These were things that Oliver usually commented on. He always loved to people watch, and try to decipher what was going on in their heads and in their lives just by their body language. It had always excited him, but that day he wasn't saying anything. He just stared down at the fake baby in his arms and walked slowly beside me, almost as if he was oblivious to my presence.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore, so I veered toward the swing set, hoping to catch his attention. Oliver veered with me, not really acknowledging the fact that we veered, but veering just the same. I sat on a swing, and he took his place in the one beside me, rocking slowly and still focused on the doll. I studied his profile carefully; he wasn't smiling but he wasn't frowning. His expression was vacant and somehow that told me he wasn't _really_ focused on the doll. I had had my suspicions from the beginning, but the faraway look in his eyes confirmed it.

"Quarter for your thoughts." I said casually. He looked up and cocked an eyebrow.

"It's a penny."

"I think you're worth more than a penny." I said with a shrug. That made him smile and he looked back at Winnifred.

"I'm just tired." He said slowly, expressionlessly, as if it was simply a programmed response. I knew he was covering up something, but I also got the feeling that it wasn't time for me to pry any deeper.

I reached over and put my hand on his back, "It's okay, Oliver."

He shut his eyes briefly, squeezing them closed tightly. I knew he was holding back something, some overwhelming emotion that he didn't want me to see just yet. I rubbed his back slowly and eventually he opened his eyes and looked at me and smiled.

He just looked at me for the longest time. His eyes flickering over my face every few seconds.

"You look really pretty today." He said softly, slowly. Like he wasn't sure how I would take what he was saying, or maybe he wasn't even sure how he _meant_ it. It didn't matter how he meant it though, not to me. Because it was all I needed to make my day.

I smiled and cleared my throat, "Yea well I always look my best when I get three hours of sleep and don't wear makeup."

"You only got three hours of sleep?" Oliver asked, furrowing his brow with concern.

"Mhm, being a single parent is harder than it looks on The Nanny."

"You're not a single parent!" Oliver shouted, completely insulted with the insinuation that he was no help. I shrugged.

"Face it, Oken, you're a dead beat dad." I joked. Oliver didn't respond. Instead his face fell a little and he looked at the doll in his hands. My smile quickly slipped from my face and I stared at him, wondering what had made him so sad so suddenly.

"Oliver? I'm sorry." I said. Oliver shook his head slowly.

"For what?" His voice held very little emotion, but the tiny bit it _did_ show, was desperate and sad. It made my stomach flip and my eyes burn.

"For whatever I said that made you sad." I whispered helplessly. I absolutely hated seeing him this way. I know no one ever _likes_ to see their best friend's sad, but there really, truly is nothing else in the entire world that I hate more than Oliver Oken's sadness. Someone so amazing doesn't deserve to feel that way, ever.

He looked up at me, then back to Winnifred. He brushed a hand over the doll's tiny face and sighed, "I don't wanna be like that." He said softly. I cocked my head to the side and leaned forward.

"Like what, Oliver?"

"Like..." He stopped, his mouth poised mid-word, and gently hugged the doll to his chest. He held it for a few silent minutes, his eyes closed and a very indescribable look on his face. Then he opened them and set the doll in his lap. He looked up and across the park at the children playing, "Never mind."

A little piece of me died inside. Something was horribly wrong with Oliver and he wouldn't tell me what it was. I couldn't help but feel guilty for some reason. Like I had done something to make him think he couldn't open up to me anymore, to make him think I would judge him or something. I opened my mouth to beg him to reconsider finishing his thought when little Winnifred erupted in loud, choking sobs. Oliver jumped and looked at the doll in his lap.

"What does she want?" He laughed and glanced at me. He sounded strangely nervous and much too concerned about the doll's well being. I took a second to recover from the heart wrenching feeling that had recently washed over me before answering.

"She's hungry."

"Well, here's my chance to go against my nature, eh?" He said with a forced laugh. I didn't read very far into his response, but only because I didn't know where to begin trying. It was like he was speaking a different language and all of my intuition was lost in translation.

Oliver looked over at me expectantly, "Can I feed her?" He asked slowly when I didn't immediately respond. I gasped and patted the pocket of my sweatshirt.

"Shit I didn't bring her bottle!"

Oliver broke into a grin and laughed. He stood up, pulling me with him and wrapped me in a tight hug, leaving the doll resting on the swing; for the moment forgotten. The hug lasted a long time. It was very, _very_ welcome, and it gave me a serene sort of feeling that everything would be okay. When Oliver pulled away he laughed and reached for Winnifred.

"Come on, Lils." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a half squeeze as we started walking; but as we reached the edge of the park, his arm slipped down and I felt a sudden and thrilling shiver rip through me as his fingers entwined themselves with mine. I smiled to myself and began singing the theme song to The Nanny.


	15. Beautiful Like Her Mother

_Friday_

The entire week went exactly the same. Oliver was constantly in my company. He came to my house in the morning before school, he stayed over after school until very late, and he wouldn't let little Winnifred out of his sight. _And_ he was still vaguely sad. He wouldn't outright tell me anything was wrong, but I could feel it, and I could see it in his eyes. It was killing me.

That morning, Oliver was hovering over my shoulder as I gathered my school stuff and tried to dress Winnifred. It was the end of the project and we had to turn her in today for "inspection". The teacher would hook her up to a computer and she would tell her how we treated her. I was hoping she forgot about the time I dropped her down the stairs.

"You can't dress her in _that_." Oliver scoffed from behind me. I sighed and turned around.

"Why not? What's wrong with it?" I looked down at the blue dress I was slipping her into and back to Oliver. He groaned and pushed me aside to remove the dress.

"Its ugly. And this is her last day alive, she has to look perfect." He sounded extremely worried about the doll. I stared at him as he dug through the pile of baby clothes we had scrounged up for the duration of the project.

"It's a doll, Oliver. It doesn't care."

"I know it's a doll, Lillian." He growled over his shoulder, "But _I_ care." He finished putting her into a light yellow jumper and smiled. "There, beautiful."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're all there upstairs." I reached around him and picked up the bottle, tapping on the side of his head as I did so. He just shot me a glare and leaned down to pick up his backpack.

"So sue me for taking this seriously." He said bitterly. I stopped stuffing baby accessories into my bag.

"Don't you think you're taking it a little _too_ seriously? It's just a class project, it's not real."

"That doesn't make it less important." He reasoned tiredly, "I mean, this is supposed to be like practice for our future. If I fucked this up then...I don't wanna fuck up in real life, Lil. Not with something as special as my own daughter."

I stared at him thoughtfully. I didn't understand why this doll meant so much to him all of the sudden. Why was he making such a big deal out of this pretend child we had? Out of being a father? It was so unlike Oliver to take anything school related, besides soccer, so seriously. But as freaky as it was, it was also very sweet.

I looked down at the doll, away from the slightly sad and pleading look Oliver was giving me. She did look cute in her little yellow jumper. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"You're right, that looks much better than the blue one." I said, picking her up, "She looks beautiful."

Oliver smiled widely and stepped toward me. He reached out and touched the doll affectionately, "Beautiful like her mother." He said softly. My eyes flicked immediately to his face, meeting his in an awkward lock as he realized how weird that must've sounded. I wanted to, tried to, say something, but all that came out was an embarrassing crack as my suddenly dry throat attempted to press sound through. Oliver wasted no time increasing the intensity of the bizarre moment as he dipped his head down to catch my lips in a brief, tender kiss. It was so quick and so careful, like a very first kiss in junior high. As if he didn't know what he was doing at all, which could very well have been the truth considering the circumstances. My eyes didn't have a chance to close, but as Oliver drew back I saw his flicker open and he scanned my face for some kind of reaction. I just stared at him, my mouth hung open slightly and my eyes were wide with shock. Oliver took my silent, stunned expression as a bad sign and immediately retreated back into himself. He shrunk away from me and turned toward the door.

"I'm sorry, Lilly." He mumbled and cleared his throat as he swung around the doorframe. I stood stock still and staring after him as I listened to him bound quickly down the stairs. All I could think about was the feeling of his lips against mine for the second time that week. And both times he had gotten weird about it. Although, I had to admit, this was much different from the first time. Oliver had kissed me, seriously kissed me. It was shy and careful, but he wasn't just being a perverted goofball about it. It was a dead serious, teen-movie moment. And I fucking ruined it by being a stupid little girl.

"When I call your names, bring your child simulation to the front and I'll check it's memory database." The teacher stood at her desk and stared at us over the top of her glasses. I glanced at Oliver, he was staring at the doll in his lap again as if it was a real baby that he had gotten attached to. We hadn't spoken a word to each other besides a casual, "ready for class?" or "do you have all the info for our budget and stuff?" It was a little unnerving, because even though I knew he had gotten the wrong impression by my reaction, I didn't know how to get back into the moment. I figured it was long gone and I had missed it.

"It's just a doll, Oliver." I whispered carefully, knowing how he felt but knowing at the same time that it _was_ just a doll. He would get over it, right?

"I know that." He sighed, "I just...I don't know, Lil, it was nice. Ya know? Being a father. It was kinda comforting, like I was _needed_. I liked the responsibility."

I smiled and shot a quick look over at Mitchel who was twitching with the anticipation of handing in the doll and ending the project. I laughed, "I think you're pretty much alone in that theory."

Oliver shrugged, "Maybe." Then he nodded, "Yea, I think so too."

I opened my mouth to console him, because he seemed to take that realization to heart, when our names were called. I looked up at the teacher then at Oliver who hadn't moved.

"Oliver, it's time." I said softly. He bit his lip and stood up slowly. We walked to the front of the room and he reluctantly handed the doll over to the teacher. She unbuttoned the back of it's jumper and stuck the key into the small hole on it's lower back. Oliver sucked in a quick breath as she opened it up and plugged in the chord that transferred the memory information to her computer. She mused over the readings on the screen for a moment before smiling and making a checkmark in her book.

"Well done." She said as she unattached our baby from the computer. We turned around and headed back to our seats. Oliver slumped down very low and began scribbling on his notebook.

"Are you okay?" I asked. He didn't look at me as he nodded. I sighed and reached over to pinch him.

"Ow! Lilly, what the fuck?" He hissed. I glared at him and shook my head.

"Stop lying to me, Oliver, I know something is wrong with you." I scolded softly, "When this project started you were just as indifferent about it as me, but all the sudden you went all The Hand That Rocks The Cradle on me. It's a freaking doll, Oliver. What gives?" I gave him the most meaningful look I could and he stared back at me, doing the best impression of incredulous disbelief I had ever seen. I made a pouty face at him, which made the corners of his mouth twitch upward, but he didn't crack. I groaned and flopped back in my seat, "Fine, play the fucking martyr. What-ev." I used my valley-girl voice and inwardly I grinned when I caught the snort from beside me.

"You're such a dork." Oliver whispered, still not looking at me.

"Like I said, what. Ev."

"Like I said, dor. K."

I gave him a slow, snotty look but said nothing. The teacher had clapped her hands abruptly to get our attention and was going on about how proud she was of some of us, while others had failed miserably and should never be allowed to reproduce. As I turned to the front, feigning paying attention, I could sense Oliver's eyes on me, and it was all I could do not to look at him and mouth "I love you."


	16. It's Not Like You To Be So Serious

_Later That Afternoon_

There was a big test on African culture in World Geography class. A class the whole five of us had last period. Five because Alexis happened to be a junior. So she sat quietly reading some magazine while the rest of us crammed our brains full of unnecessary facts about the Nigerian economy and Kenyan pop music. The only thing I really learned was that, if I lived in Nairobi, I would never be fat. I mean, seriously, it's beautiful there. Warm, sunny, and the shelves at the grocery store are chalk full of fruit. I would walk everywhere because it would be so nice and eat tons of fruit so I would be healthy and thin and happy. I told the rest of the little study group that, and everyone but Oliver laughed. Oliver told me I was being dumb and that just living in Nairobi wouldn't keep me from getting fat. He said he would never live there because people were still oppressed there. Oliver said that I would hate the heat, because I'm fair skinned and burn easily.

I told Oliver to shut up.

"Lilly, stop acting like a first grader." Oliver spat, shaking his head and turning the page in his text book. I glanced around the circle, everyone looked up nervously, obviously uncomfortable with the awkwardly hostile tone he was taking with me.

"Oliver, stop acting like a jackass." I shot back. Oliver looked up slowly and gave me the dirtiest look I have ever seen.

"I'm not being a jackass, I'm just sick of listening to your delusions."

"_My_ delusions?" My voice squeaked with my indignant shock, "What about your delusions? You were getting so attached to that stupid doll I thought I was gonna have to pry you away from it with a crowbar."

"Fuck you, Lilly." Oliver got up, tossing his book to the ground and started walking away. I didn't even bother shooting my shocked expression to the others, I didn't care whether or not they thought he was being irrational. All I cared about was why he had suddenly gone hulk on me. I stomped after him across the campus lawn and caught his arm.

"Don't walk away from me, Oliver!" I shouted. He spun around and glared at me.

"You had to bring the doll into it didn't you?" He said. I was taken aback at his question and stumbled over something to say. Oliver shook his head and continued, "I told you why I liked that doll."

"Yea, you said you liked the responsibility, and you felt needed, and you wanted the practice." I counted off on my fingers, "But _why_? You're eighteen years old, Oliver, you aren't supposed to want _that_ kind of responsibility yet. And you've never, ever been like this before." I let out a long breath and licked my lips, pleading with him, "You're so...morose. It's not like you to be so serious."

Olivers angry expression melted and he looked away from me, "So that's what you think of me as? A fucking fool? A clown?"

"No!" I insisted, "Oliver...I have never seen you that way. But this is just _too_ serious. _Too_ different. It's scaring me."

He sucked in a quick breath and ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. He looked nervous, and I could tell he was shaking.

"Just tell me what's wrong." I whispered desperately. Oliver's eyes shot to my face nervously. He let out a slightly hysterical laugh and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth.

"What _isn't_ wrong?" He asked softly, almost inaudibly, like it wasn't really meant for me to hear. I just watched him shift uncomfortably for a minute before I stepped forward and tried to touch his shoulder. He flinched from my touch and stepped back.

Inside, my stomach dropped and my whole body broke out in an instantaneous cold sweat. I could feel myself shake with a sick confusion and I covered my face to stop myself from breaking down into heaving sobs.

"I'm sorry,Lilly." He said. I looked up at him from between my fingers and blinked back tears at the utterly forlorn look on his adorable face. I dragged my hands down my cheeks and swallowed the lump in my throat.

"It's okay." My voice croaked out, "But, please, explain the whole doll thing to me ag--"

"For the love of fucking God, Lil--"

"I'm sorry I care about your feelings, Oliver! I'm sorry I give a flying fuck what's wrong with y--"

"Don't you fucking pull that!" Oliver shouted, whirling away from me, "Don't you fucking put me through a guilt trip!"

I clutched my hands to my chest as my devastated emotions beat me and choking sob escaped my throat, "Oliver, why are you yelling at me?" I sobbed at him, beseechingly, "What did I do?"

Oliver's face fell the second the tears sprang forth and he flinched forward, as if he wanted to console me but thought better of it. His mouth opened and closed then he ran a hand through his hair and over his face, "You didn't do anything." He said quietly.

I shook my head and swallowed a sob, "Then, please, tell me what's wrong." I waited for him to reply, but he only peered at me from above his hand which was covering his mouth as he stared back at me. I took a step closer, "Oliver, I'm your best friend--"

"I know you're my best frie--"

"Well? I can help you!" My voice was straining against my vocal chords as it hit pitches I didn't know existed in my desperation.

"No you can't!" Oliver shouted back, his own voice sounding cramped and forced. I closed my eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to break the surface.

"Oliver!" I wailed. Oliver had turned away from me, but as his name left my lips with so much pleading and so much worry, he spun back and took a menacing step toward me.

"He left, Lilly! My dad fucking left, he's gone!" He shouted, his voice cracking. Oliver's hands shifted through his hair and tugged angrily on the red bangs that hung in his eyes. My chest began to ache and I tasted bile in my throat. I strange sort of fluttery panic rose in the pit of my stomach and I twitched.

There was a long, extended silence before I managed to find a sliver of my voice, "...What do you mean?" I asked softly, the words barely making it out my mouth.

"He left!" Oliver yelled, "He just walked out on us. Just...walked out of the house as if there wasn't anything there to begin with. Like he didn't even care." He paused, "They've always been dysfunctional...but they were fighting more than usual..." He trailed off and his gaze shifted across the courtyard.

I stared at him for the longest time, trying to fully comprehend what he was telling me, "When?"

Oliver took in a heavy breath and let it out sharply. He wouldn't look at me, instead his eyes stayed fixed on his sneakers. He was still tugging roughly on his hair, probably to distract himself from the pain in his heart. His eyes were red and welling up, and he remained silent until he had gotten his tear ducts under control.

"Last Saturday. They had this big argument because he was working instead of watching me play. I told her it didn't matter...it was one game...I told her I didn't care, but...but she made a big fucking deal out of it and now he's gone."

Last Saturday. His parents fought because his dad wasn't at the game last Saturday? I had spoken to his mother, and she seemed so upset. But I hadnt thought anything like this would happen. I took in a shaking breath and looked away from him. And he called me that night, that strange, un-Oliver-like phone call. I had known something was wrong.

But this was so unreal, this kind of thing only happens on TV, on Lifetime movies or Dawson's Creek. I knew Oliver's dad, he loved Oliver. He wasn't an affectionate father, but I knew he loved him. How couldn't he? I struggled against tears that slowly beat me and crept over my lower eyelids and slid down my cheeks.

"But he wouldn't just--out of the blue like that..." My thought slipped away from me as the severity of the situation was setting in on me. Oliver laughed disdainfully.

"Yes he would. Don't kid yourself, Lilly. My dad's never been a really spectacular guy." He paused and the frightening, sickeningly humored expression on his face faded and was replaced with an overwhelmingly sad dawning of realization. "I guess he just got tired of being miserable." He whispered.

I wanted to hug him, to wrap him up in my arms and make all of his doubts and his worries and his ridiculous guilt go away. I could see it in his eyes and read it in his body language. He felt responsible for his dad leaving, and that wasn't fair. He didn't deserve that. But at the same time, the magnitude of his words was much too heavy for my puny heart. I knew what he meant. People can only pretend to be happy as they are, with the way their life is, for so long before the degree of their own discontentment overwhelms them. Sometimes, you just get tired of pretending. I knew exactly what he meant, because I was doing the exact same thing when it came to Oliver.

I let out a long sigh, "We all do." I said softly. Oliver's eyes flickered to me and hovered level with my own. We held each other's gaze, sharing a mutual feeling of understanding. I understood, now, his strange parenting behavior. I knew what he meant when he said it was his chance to go against his nature. He was afraid that he was going to be like his own dad, and let his child down. Oliver was so young, he shouldn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And Oliver understood that there wasn't anything to be afraid of with me. He knew that I wouldn't be angry or pitying. He knew I would be exactly what he needed. And I think he understood what I meant when I confirmed his theory about people's tolerance for their own unhappiness. I wasn't condoning his father's actions, I was accepting the sad truth that we all feel that way.

We both blinked and looked away from each other. I wiped at a piece of hair that had clung to my wet cheeks, "So he just...walked out."

"Yea." Oliver let out a long, slow, tired breath, "And he's not coming back."

A new sting of tears hit the back of my eyes and my throat at the sound of his bleak words, "How do you know that?" I asked, almost angrily. How could he afford to be so fucking hopeless?

Oliver groaned and lifted his face to the sky, "Because I saw it in his eyes, Lils, I saw it on his face and in his eyes...when I begged him to stay." He laughed scornfully, and I heard not only hate and resentment in his words, but longing. And it was the voice of a small child, lost and afraid. Oliver rubbed at his eyes, "I actually _begged_ that bastard to stay. But he just looked at me...like I was a stranger...and left. His own son! And he wouldn't do it...not even for his own child."

A million thoughts flashed through my mind at lightening speed. The doll, the park, the baby dress. All of the strange things he had been saying to me in the past week kept repeating over and over like a broken record. His reaction to me calling him a dead beat dad, his adamancy about the outfit the doll should wear, his insinuation that this project was more important than I was making it out to be. Everything. I had been so fucking blind.

"I'm so sorry, Oliver." I said. Oliver looked up at me suddenly.

"Do you love me?" He hadn't even missed a beat. I blinked rapidly, slightly shocked at his seemingly random question, and stuttered.

"What?"

Oliver reached forward and grabbed my hand. He held it against his chest, over his heart and stared directly into my eyes, "Do you love me, Lilly?" He asked again, more slowly. He didn't mean it in a romantic way, he meant it as a vulnerable human being simply craving the affection he had been denied. But he also meant it as my best friend.

"Of course I do, Oliver, I--"

"Say it."

I couldn't break our eye contact, the feeling that was being shared through it was far too intense to look away. I sucked in a sharp breath, "I love you,Oliver."

"Really? Because the honest to God truth is that I can't get through this without you." He whispered fiercely, leaning so close I could feel his hot breath hit my face, "I really need you, Lilly."

The weight of his words hit me like a million ton brick. My breath hitched in my lungs and butterflies filled my stomach. I swallowed to calm them, and took a long, careful cleansing breath before opening my mouth to respond.

"Okay." Was all I managed, "Okay."


	17. Somewhere Between Relief And Regret

_That Night: 7:30_

Oliver was asleep in my bed, I was pacing around my kitchen biting my nails and trying not to burst into tears.

My parents were both at work, and as irrational as it may have been, I was panicking. My dad worked a lot, and chances were he wouldn't be home for hours anyway, but the anticipation of whether or not he would even come home at all was absolutely terrifying me.

I was being ridiculous, I'm fully aware of that fact. And it's not like I was afraid he didn't love me, I was just really freaking out, I knew that he would come home and that my dad loved me. But it made me desperately sad to think that the same couldn't be said for Oliver.

I listened with overly anxious anticipation to the ringing emanating from the receiver. I chewed on my fingernails and my eyes darted nervously back and forth across the room. Finally the ringing stopped.

"Hello?" A light female voice answered. I let out an anxious sigh.

"Is Danny Truscott available?" I asked. The finger I had been gnawing on had started to bleed around the cuticle. I slid my hand under my thigh to keep myself from chewing anymore and bursting a blood vessel or something.

"No, he's out of the office right now, may I take a message?"

I tapped my foot sporadically and began chewing on my lip, "Um, no...that's alright, it isn't important." I hung up quickly and tried to focus all of my attention on the crooked picture frame that hung on the wall opposite me. I absolutely _hated_ crooked picture frames, it drove me insane.

Oliver, on the other hand, had no qualms with tacky disorder and thought it was extremely hilarious to watch me scramble around straightening frames. So every chance he got, he would tilt them.

I tried to mentally tilt it back, but unfortunately I still hadn't managed to unlock my inner Matilda. I tried to tell myself that a crooked picture frame was very trivial at that moment, and I should ignore it. But the anal retentive perfectionist part of me got the better of the rest of me and I hurriedly got up and fixed it. I stood and stared at it for the longest time, not really looking at the picture, but my reflection inside of it. I stared long and hard at myself, Oliver's words kept repeating in my mind.

_I guess he just got tired of being miserable._

My own words answered him.

_We all do._

Maybe it wasn't so much a fear of my father leaving as a fear of loosing Oliver. Could I really keep this up forever? Maybe I could, and that was the scary part.

But as soon as that thought floated into my brain it floated back out because the front door opened and my father walked in. I saw him, and a fraction of a millisecond later I had bombarded him with a hug that nearly qualified as a body slam.

"Whoa, Princess, calm down."

I hate it when he calls me Princess.

Yay, my daddy's home!

I reluctantly released him and swallowed my paranoid emotional tears. I felt embarrassed because I knew how stupid I had been acting.

"Sorry, dad. I'm just checking to make sure you still love me." I told him honestly, but he laughed, which was good. I didn't need anyone else knowing how irrational and paranoid I had been.

"Well, let me quickly assure you that, yes, I do still love you and I always will."

Exactly what I needed to hear, Dad. Thank you.

I talked to my dad for an hour before he had to go back to work. We talked about school, college, boys, mom, and finally Oliver. My father asked how he was, if he was dating anyone, how his soccer career was shaping up. I answered everything as honest as I could bring myself to be.

I decidedly left out everything about his dad.

As soon as my dad had pulled back out of the driveway, I made me way slowly up the stairs and down the hall to my room. When I pushed open the door, Oliver was lying on his stomach, hugging one of my pillows. His right leg was draped over the other pillow, and I stifled a laugh at how utterly innocent he looked; his bangs were falling across his forehead, his chin tucked down against his shoulder, and his back rose and fell with each intake of breath.

I watched him silently until he began to stir. I stepped the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind me as he rolled onto his back and stretched, yawning and gazing at me sleepily.

"Hi." He groaned tiredly. I leaned back against the closed door and smiled shyly.

"Hey la sole."  
(Hey there sunshine)

Oliver smiled and his eyes slid closed again. My eyes flickered over his lazy form. One arm was lying on the mattress above his head and the other hand went slowly up and down as it rested on his stomach. I thought he had fallen back asleep, so I turned back around to leave.

"Get over here." His voice drifted after me. I smiled and bit my lip as I shuffled across the floor and crawled onto the bed beside him. I laid on my side facing him, and shortly he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me. His eyes met mine and we held each other's gaze for a long time before Oliver broke it with a yawn. Then he focused on the ceiling and rubbed his face.

"Did you have a nice nap?" I asked quietly. He smiled and wiped at the sleep in the corners of his eyes.

"Mmhmm." He mumbled. He faced me again, still on his back, and I reached carefully forward to brush his bangs out of his eyes. Eyes that were staring at something just above my chin.

I felt my stomach flutter as my fingers danced smoothly through his soft hair, and his only reaction was to scoot closer. I slid my hand over the top of his head, the long hairs went between my fingers, and came to a halt at the base of his skull. I could feel the warm skin of the back of his neck as it brushed against the side of my hand, and with a burst of curious confidence I spread my pinky finger outward to caress it softly. Oliver blinked slowly and licked his lips, chewing the bottom one thoughtfully. I felt a shiver shoot through me when his hand made it's way cautiously onto my hip and slid up and down my side slowly, making my body break out in furious goose bumps.

"Lilly..." Oliverwhispered, and something about the way his voice came out; raspy but shaky, made my heart leap into my throat.

"Yea, Oliver?" I whispered back. And I knew that the pitch of my voice gave away my nervousness. Oliver's hand left my waist and appeared to cup my cheek softly, his thumb trailing across my jaw line and brushing languidly over my lips.

"Why didn't you say anything this morning...when I kissed you." His eyes fluttered over my face and landed on the bedspread beneath us. I saw something in this gesture that I had never seen in Oliver before; I saw an uneasy sort of shy apprehension. The key word; shy.

"You surprised me." I answered truthfully. Oliver blinked rapidly, and his hand found it's way into my hair. I closed my eyes involuntarily at the gentle tickle of his fingertips grazing my scalp. With my eyes still closed I asked him, "At school, when I asked you what was wrong...you said, 'what isn't wrong'." I opened my eyes and met his. My own hand found it's way slowly and deliberately onto his waist. I toyed absently with the hem of his t-shirt, and pretended not to notice the faint blush that appeared on his face when my fingers grazed his skin. "What did you mean?"

Oliver licked his lips slowly and my stomach erupted with nervous and excited butterflies as he wriggled closer to me on the bed and whispered, "I would've thought it was obvious. I mean it's not really _wrong_, just..._really_ fucking weird and...unexpected." He paused, "I don't know what happened, and I'm fucking scared shitless. But it feels..." His eyes passed quickly over my features, and his expression was one of pure, but surprised, awe, "...Beautiful." He finished.

Now it was my turn to blush.

"Lilly?" Oliver's whisper had gotten even softer and his fingers grazed my cheek.

"What?" I barely managed to respond. There was a pause, during which the only sound was our quick, short and uneven breathing. It gave away the passion of my long suppressed feelings, and his newly discovered ones, that we were finally letting out.

Oliver ran his hand over my face, the tips of his fingers brushed over my eyelids, my cheeks and my lips.

"I think I'm gonna kiss you again." He said softly, and I distinctly heard his breath hitch a little, exactly like mine. I struggled to take in air, any air, even a tiny miniscule gasp just so I wouldn't faint.

"Okay." I answered him.

Oliver's hand slid on to the side of my neck and he drew my face gently closer. I tried to shut my eyes but I was completely mesmerized by his lips as they inched steadily nearer to my own. I flicked my gaze up to meet Oliver's a split second before our mouth's should have met, and he looked back at me, both of our eyes betraying the absolutely terrifying nervousness we felt as our friendship crept at the speed of our heart beats toward an entirely new level.

But instead of the unmistakable sensation of skin on skin, we were met with a shrill ringing from beside my bed.

_Ring_

We jerked apart violently, as if we had felt electric shocks.

_Ring_

We stared at each other, neither of us daring to move.

_Ring_

Then the song Kelsey filled the room, and Olivers attention jerked sideways to where his cell phone sat on my bedside table. We both remained motionless for another minute. Then Oliver was the one to break the silence with a sighing laugh that was a very cloudy mixture of relief and regret.

"We should get those." He laughed, running his fingers quickly through my hair. I forced my own laugh and nodded, but even as Oliver rolled over and sat up, I stayed where I was. I squeezed my eyes shut for a split second, mentally screaming in frustration and rage and sadness, because even though somehow I knew that everything had changed, I still wasn't one hundred percent positive that it had truly changed for the better.


	18. Sometimes I Doubt Your Commitment

_8:15_

TV had gotten lame. There were absolutely no shows that could hold my attention for a span of longer than three seconds. Three seconds was exactly how long I stared at each channel before pushing the little rubber button firmly down on the remote. I know, I counted.

I had answered the phone, voice shaking and short of breath, only to stop breathing completely halfway through my greeting. Not because of the confused, lost and stoned Mitchel who murmured something about pelicans; but because of the quiet, affectionate sigh that came from Oliver as he uttered _her_ name.

I had completely forgotten about her.

I talked to Mitchel for about ten minutes. More like, he babbled on and on about the many different foods he was thinking about at that moment, and I tried desperately _not_ to listen to Oliver's hushed terms of endearment.

Finally I managed to convince Mitchel to go with a cheeseburger instead of Chinese on the grounds that a cheeseburger was less likely to upset his stomach and ruin his high. Then I threw myself off of my bed and nearly tripped as I ran out the door and down the stairs. I don't know if Oliver noticed my rabid fleeing, but I don't care either. I flopped down on the couch, covering my face with my hands and taking deep breaths.

"This is okay, Lilly, it's fine. Everything is just _fine_." I whispered out loud. I'm a terrible liar, and I was having a very hard time convincing myself of anything.

The TV was making beautiful background noise when Oliver came trotting down the stairs. He leapt over the back of the couch and landed half in my lap. I groaned and shoved him a little, not enough to move him completely off of me, but enough to give the customary annoyed impression Oliver smiled and adjusted so he was beside me instead, then he cleared his throat and gestured to the TV.

"Since when do you watch Antiques Roadhouse?"

"Since I developed a crush on middle-aged delusions." I sighed, "Who was on the phone?" I asked casually, pretending I didn't already know the answer.

Oliver hesitated before answering, maybe because he realized that something here was different, "It was Katie." He said hurriedly.

"Oh."

Neither of us would look at each other.

"She says I've been distant."

"Really?"

"She thinks we need to spend some quality time together."

"Sounds fun."

"I'm actually thinking about heading over there now..."

"Oh."

There was an extended silence. It filled the room and muffled the sound of the television. I felt Oliver's body move as he breathed and it made me feel sick inside. Then a flutter shot through my stomach as I felt his fingers tangle themselves shyly with mine. I glanced down at our joined hands on the couch cushions between us, and a bashful smile touched my face.

"I don't know what we're doing here." Oliver said quietly, as if he thought the words wouldn't make any sense if spoken too loudly, "But whatever it is, I still need to talk to Katie. Because right now, even though I'd give anything in the world at this very second not to give a flying fuck, she's my girlfriend, and I have an obligation to care."

I nodded slowly, the smile fading quickly from my face. I squeezed his hand tightly and then pulled mine free, "I understand."

Oliber smiled and leaned toward me to press a, still timid, but meaningful kiss to my cheek, but I turned my head slightly and he caught the corner of my mouth. Then he got up and walked toward the door, shooting me a smile as he left.

The minute he shut the door behind him I slumped down in the couch and sighed. I shook my head, "'I have an obligation to care.'" I mocked him, "Obligation my ass. His only obligation is to suck and he's doing a tremendous job of it." I glanced around the room and groaned, "I'm fucking talking to myself."

I let myself sit and wallow for about ten minutes before wandering toward the phone and dialing Alexis's number with a sigh. She picked up after two and a half rings. Two and a half. I counted.

"Hello?"

"Sup Pimpette?"

"Not much, loser." Alexis laughed, "What're you up to?" I leaned against the wall across from the front door and stared at it, mentally willing Oliver to come back, bursting through and taking me into his arms like in those heart wrenching Hollywood teen flicks.

"Pondering the meaning of life, arguing the ethics of gravity, considering the benefits of Buddhism, debating whether or not asparagus should be considered edible, you know the usual." I said nonchalantly and began picking at the chipped green nail polish on my pinky finger.

"Sounds stimulating."

"Yea." Then, without thinking, I blurted, "Oliver kissed me."

There was a second of silence on the line during which I was given a chance to realize exactly what I had said. I felt like an idiot.

"What?" Alexis finally said.

"Oliver...well, he _almost_...kissed me." I slid down the wall and hit the floor with a thump.

"What do you mean almost?"

"I mean, like, we _almost_ kissed and then...the phone rang."

"Was it important?"

"I've only been fantasizing about it since the first grade."

"No, I mean the phone call."

"Oh." I rolled my eyes at myself and gave myself a mental thwack on the head, "It was his girlfriend."

"Ouch, I bet that put a damper on the mood, eh?"

"To say the least."

"What did you do?"

"Well I just sort of closed my eyes and held my breath-"

"No, God, about Katie being on the phone."

"Oh." I sighed loudly, "Fortunately Mitchel called at the same time. Then I ran out of the room."

"So you panicked?"

"Naturally."

"Naturally." There was a pause, then Alexis sniffed loudly and spoke, "So then what happened, is he still there?"

"No he went to her house."

"Damn, that's lame. I'm sorry Lil."

"I don't know how sorry you should be. Before he left he held my hand and said that he wished he could just ignore her. But he's got an obligation to care."

"Really?" This intrigued her immensely. "What do you suppose he meant?"

"I don't know, Lex, but I'm hoping it's good."

"I'm sure it is. It sounds so anyway. He sure enjoyed that kiss you two shared at the diner last week."

I blushed just remembering it, "He wasn't the only one."

"Ooo my little Lilly finally openly admits that she has hormones."

"I so do not have hormones. Only animals and boys have hormones."

"Grrr. You should totally ask Oliver to Homecoming."

I frowned, "Homecoming?"

"Yea that thing where you get all dressed up and dance and everyone's hormones they don't have get wired."

"Ugh, sounds barbaric."

"Sometimes I seriously think our only option is piracy."

"Sometimes I seriously doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion."

"Shut up, I'm a lifer. That's why I'm peer pressuring you into taking a leap and asking Oliver to Homecoming before Katie the Ass-whore does."

"Ass-whore?"

"Yea apparently she takes it in th-"

"So this Homecoming thing sounds great I'll mull it over, bye!" I hung up immediately and tossed the phone across the floor. The last thing I ever wanted to know was the places that Katie Carlos would "take it". And the whole asking Oliver to Homecoming idea was, although incredibly appealing, not going to happen. Not only was some stupid high school dance probably the furthest thing from his mind at the time, he would never go with me. Like he said, he had obligations right now to his girlfriend. I couldn't expect him to just ditch her when he didn't know what the hell was going on here, could I? But unless he got rid of his obligation to her he could never just _find out_ what was going on here. Suddenly, realistic logic started to pass through my head and the idea of taking Oliver to Homecoming started to seem more and more possible.

Now I just needed to grow some balls.


	19. Ultimate Phone Whore

_That Night, 11:30_

I couldn't sleep. Knowing Oliver was out with Katie, and knowing that I may just be losing my window of opportunity, was making me paranoid and nauseous. Not to mention crabby.

I was laying on my back staring at the ceiling and trying desperately not to think about what had _almost_ happened last time I was in my bed. I started counting spots on my ceiling; the little plaster balls leered down at me and taunted me. They pressured me to jump out my window with the terrifying voices of singing children.

Come to think of it, I might have been losing my mind.

I had managed to count one hundred and thirty four spots when my phone rang loudly beside me. I rolled over and reached for the receiver.

"Please be Oliver, please be Oliver, please be Oliver." I held my breath for thirty seconds before answering, "Hello?"

"Hey, Lilly? It's Drake."

I frowned, "Who?"

"Drake Morrow, ya know, from the party?"

I probed my mind for any tiny recollection of someone named "Drake" from a party. I discovered a very foggy image of a boy in a letterman's jacket with a tongue stud.

"Do you play football, Drake?" I asked slowly.

"Yea, starting quarter back. You don't remember. Well, fuck me, this is kinda embarrassing."

"No, no, I remember. The party. We met...on the couch." I slapped myself on the forehead.

"Yea." He laughed, "So I hope it's not too late for me to call you."

I sighed again and rolled onto my back, obviously it wasn't Oliver, but I figured the guy managed to find my number I had given him and remember me enough to have the decency to call. So I'd give him a conversation.

"No. I'm used to late night phone calls. Perverts only call at night, they feel less dirty."

"Perverts?"

"Yea my number is in the book under 'Ultimate Phone Whore'."

"You don't say."

"Well...no." There was a slight pause, "Why did you call me?" Then I rolled my eyes at myself for being so fucking dumb. But Drake laughed on the other side.

"Sorry, I got distracted by your rambling. It's cute."

_Cute?!_

"But I called to ask you if you wanna go to the Homecoming dance with me."

My jaw hit the floor. Mr. All-Star Football player wanted to gob to the Homecoming dance with me? How cliche.

"And don't go thinking it's _just_ because I like you or something. It's mostly just because I got nominated and I think you'd look hot on my arm when I win." He chuckled.

Another jaw drop. And he thinks he's clever too.

"Lilly?"

"Uhhh...I don't know...I was going to go with someone else."

"So tell them you changed your mind."

"Aren't we the cocky one." I smiled. He was persistent.

"Come on, it'll be fun, I promise."

"I don't know."

"Okay, well just think it over and let me know at school on Monday."

"I can do that."

"Great. I'll see you Monday, Lilly."

"Yes Monday, Drake."

I hung up the phone and stared back up at my ceiling. _For crying out fucking loud_.


	20. It's Just A Stupid Dance

_Monday_

I didn't see or hear from Oliver for the rest of the weekend.

I think it goes without saying that I may have surpassed what qualifies as "freaking out".

I wasn't sure why Oliver never touched base with me, at least I _pretended_ to be unsure. The truth was obvious...but sometimes living in denial is necessary to stabilize one's sanity. But it still wasn't like Oliver to just fall off the face of the earth like that. I tried to convince myself he was behaving strangely entirely on account of his feelings for me, that his prolonged absence was all because he was sitting alone trying to come up with the most poetic way to profess his love to me. Oliver always had a way with words.

I knew I was being exceptionally delusional. I mean, I've had my fair share of delusional moments. Okay my fair share and then some. But this was going far, far, _far_ and beyond my usual capacity.

I called him numerous times, always met with the same silly voicemail message Oliver had put on his phone the day he got it and never changed. I heard it so many times over those two days that I had it not only memorized but stuck in my head, repeating, like a bad song on the radio, all morning on Monday.

I got to school five minutes before the bell was supposed to ring, and only made it to my locker with thirty seconds to spare. I had barely gotten it open when some unbelievably uncoordinated walking fish-stick of a freshman came hurtling down the hallway, tripped over her own fucking feet, and collided with my locker door. It slammed shut, narrowly missing my fingertips.

I stared after the girl in complete shock. She hadn't even paused to apologize. She just continued flying along, totally oblivious to the fact that she nearly amputated my phalanges.

"What a fucking cretin." I mumbled in awe as I watched her thunder her way toward her class.

"You've been reading the Thesaurus for fun again, haven't you?"

I turned around slowly to face Oliver. My initial reaction was to pummel him and berate him for not calling me back. For just disappearing. For lying when he said he didn't want to go see Ashley. For saying he was going to kiss me, and then not following through. For being as cowardly as I was.

Instead, I blinked quickly and gestured to the Furiously Fleeting Freshman.

"Did you see that mental defective? She almost fucking disabled me."

Oliver leaned sideways against the locker beside mine, "Iz, what did your mom tell you about being mean to the defectives?"

"I'm not mean to their faces." I turned back to my locker and reopened it, "I mean, I'm standing here with you, right? In plain view of the public eye."

"God, Lizzle, your sense of humanity is awe-inspiring." Oliver joked as my locker popped open. He stepped around me to avoid being hit in the face and leaned on the other side.

"So you came over here to praise the softness of my heart and make my ego nearly as inflated as yours without saying hello first?" I smiled sarcastically and tossed a notebook into the chasm that is my locker.

A cheeky smile spread itself across Oliver's face as he reached onto the shelf in my locker to grab a yellow hacky-sack Mitchel had left there.

"Hi, Lilly." His tone was rank with the mocking sweetness of a child.

"Hi, Oliver." I imitated his tone almost flawlessly.

"What no hug?" He laughed. I paused in my rummaging through my locker and peered at him out of the corner of my eye. The smile on his face faltered briefly as I turned toward him, tossing my bangs out my vision, and set my bag on the ground.

I opened my arms and stepped up to him. Our hug was short, but tight. My arms looped diagonally across his chest; one over the shoulder, one under the other. And instinctively I shut my eyes and breathed him in. I think I felt his chest expand as he did the same.

When we separated we shared an uncomfortable look of "not knowing what to do next".

"Sorry, I thought we were past awkward hellos." I mumbled quietly, breaking the discomfited silence with something even more discomfiting.

Thankfully, Oliver laughed, "Ha, me too."

I gave a short smile and resumed my charade of a fervent locker search for the right text book. Carefully I glanced at Oliver who was bouncing the hacky-sack on his knee. I waited until he had caught it on the toe of his sneaker before clearing my throat and speaking slowly; trying with very little conviction, to sounds casual.

"So are you going to the dance?"

Oliver's face showed no loss of concentration as he balanced the bag of beans on his shoe. His eyes were fixed on it, but I could sense in his extended silence, that he wasn't what one might call "euphoric" that the subject found it's way into our conversation.

He jerked his foot, sending the hacky-sack into the air, and caught it effortlessly on the other foot. There was a three second hiatus before he finally answered me, "Yea..."

I looked away, into my locker again to hide the contorting of my face, "Oh...with Katie?"

Oliver tossed the ball again as I spoke, this time letting it hit the floor with a soft plastic tap, and took a step closer to me, "...yea. Look, Lil, she brought it up. I really wasn't going to a--"

I cut him off abruptly, "Oliver, it's a stupid High School dance. Don't worry about it."

I didn't want to hear some haphazardly thrown out apology for something I should have expected all along. I said it was a stupid dance, what I meant was; it was a stupid idea.

I held my breath as I tugged a book out of my locker and tucked it between my arm and my chest, cradling it close in a lame attempt at protecting my fragile feelings from anymore stomping. Oliver stooped down to pick up the hacky-sack. He held it in his hand, turning it over, just watching as his fingers moved the beans, changing its shape. Deforming it. His eyes never left his distraction as he spoke to me, so soft that his words didn't even echo in the empty hallway.

"It's just...I was _thinking_..." He trailed off, becoming lost in the disfigurement of the yellow hacky. My head swung to look at him, and I tried desperately to send him a telepathic message to keep talking. _Finish the thought! Say it! Ask me!_

"What?" I stared at him, "What, Oliver?"

Oliver's mouth hung open, suspended mid-word. He glanced up at me then back to his hands, "I...I don't know. Never mind."

Inside I crumbled again. I closed my eyes briefly then shifted my weight and submitted my disheartened gaze to the movement of his hands, "Oh...alright then."

"I mean, you're right it's just a stupid dance." Oliver said hastily as he looked up and tossed the hacky-sack from one hand to the other. I shrugged noncommittally.

"It's not _that_ stupid." I mumbled to the floor.

"What?"

"Nothing." I shook my head and decided on a slight change of topic, "Does she know about...your dad?" I asked carefully.

Oliver's eyes drifted to the floor and stayed there for a moment. Then he shrugged and answered softly, "No. But I figure...she doesn't really need to, ya know? I told you." Oliver smiled like the fact that I was his confidant, that he had opened up to me, was all that was necessary. That smile faded as quickly as it had appeared and he shrugged again, "And when the year ends, I guess...I mean, I don't think anybody else _needs_ to know." His eyes flitted slowly up to meet mine. They were wide and nervous. He was asking for some kind of approval of his decision to keep his family trauma a secret. I just smiled softly and nodded. Oliver broke the eye contact immediately, because the nod was all he wanted. He turned around and tossed the hacky-sack back into my locker.

"And, who knows. Maybe this dance thing is exactly what I need."

I looked away from him, into the depths of my locker. I sniffed and closed it, leaving any hope of being more than what we were inside. When I turned back Oliver was already beginning the walk to class, backwards, looking at me. Again waiting for some kind of validation of his thought. I just blinked and stepped alongside him.

"It's just a stupid dance." I said calmly, hoping the emotionless nonchalance hid the hurt and uncertainty. A few steps more and I saw Oliver nod out of the corner of my eye.

"Yea." He agreed.

It eludes me to this day, how we managed to fool each other.


	21. One Step Away From Romance

During third period English, I sought out Drake. I had seen him in the back of the classroom before, sleeping, I had just never really had a reason to actually notice him.

He looked up with a smile as I approached his desk. Blue eyes glazing over with some kind of ego-maniacal all-knowing power. He knew I was coming to accept his invitation. The posture of his thick body showed he did.

He had leaned back casually, one leg sprawled out across the aisle. Two of his football buddies were seated near him and they both looked at me expectantly as I came to a halt.

"Hey there." Drake said, and the cocky grin could be heard in his tone.

"Hi." I smiled back and made my best attempt at flirtatiousness. If it had been Oliver, he would have burst into a hysterical fit of giggles. But somehow, Drake couldn't see through my girlie mask to the true dork underneath.

"How's it goin'?" Drake asked, coolly jerking his chin upward. I shrugged.

"It's going." Was all I could say. Sometimes things are just too much for you to completely lie about.

"That's cool." Drake continued grinning up at me, waiting patiently for the boost of ego I was sure to supply. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, opting for an absurd chuckle instead.

I'm told sometimes girls laugh at stuff thats not funny when it comes to guys they like.

"So, Drake, I just wanted to come and tell you that I'd love to go to Homecoming with you." I said quickly. The grin grew on his face, if even possible.

"Shit, you should have gotten to me sooner." He said, "I got reeled into going with this sophomore during second hour."

I think my jaw hit the floor. How did this guy manage to make the physically impossible continually happen to me?

"Oh..." I shifted uncomfortably, "Well, thats...excruciatingly... embarrassing" I stammered. Drake stood up and cut me off.

"I'm just fucking with you." He said with a satisfied smirk. I clamped my mouth shut and mentally threw myself over the edge of a cliff.

My _God_ he is one funny fucking meathead.

Drake leaned forward and his lips ghosted past my ear, "I'm glad you changed your mind." He whispered. His hand grazed my arm as the bell rang and I turned around like a zombie to find my seat.

Mitchel wandered in halfway through the period, decked out in sunglasses and reeking of Axe cologne. He handed his pass to the teacher, who gave him a rather suspicious look, and made his way clumsily to the empty seat behind me.

He only ran into three other desks along the way.

"Shit, Mitch, how many bowls did you smoke this morning?" I turned around and hissed as soon as the teacher had resumed her lecture. He grinned at me sleepily.

"I'm not stoned, Lils." He laughed, "I'm hung over. I'd think you of all people would understand the difference."

"Wow, Mitchel, that was _almost_ funny." I smirked, "Why are you hung over?"

"Uh, because I was drunk last night?" Mitchel cocked an eyebrow at me as if I was the epitome of stupidity. "You're not really following are you?"

I reached back and swiped at the sunglasses on his face. He yelped and jerked backwards, almost putting out the eye of the Junior behind him.

"You're such a twerp!" I laughed, "Why were you drunk last night? Did you finally realize that you're worthless?"

"Ouch." Mitchel touched his chest, "Actually I was hanging out with my lady, who happens to have a fondness for strawberry wine." He wiggled his eyebrows at me suggestively and it took less than a millisecond for me to swat his arm and nearly shriek.

"You're lady?" I practically leapt from my desk, "You've been holding out me, mother fucker! Who is it?"

Mitchel gave me a very condescending look and tilted his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, "Summer Van White." His voice was rich with a husky sort of film Noir suave. I narrowed my eyes.

"Seriously?" I cocked my head to the side disbelievingly, "I thought she scared the living piss out of you during that project."

"She did. She is one scary biznatch when it comes to scholastics." He pushed his sunglasses back up and leaned forward to get an inch from my face, "But away from the prison grounds she's an animal." He purred at me.

I sat back and turned back to the teacher as she posted the assignment up on the board. After copying it down I swiveled back to face Mitchel, who hadn't taken his eyes off of me.

"That's so weird. You and Summer? I didn't think you were her type." I rolled my eyes at the openly aghast look on his face, "Or that she was yours for that matter."

"Me neither. But there's something about her." He sighed and shook his head, a soft sort of affectionate gesture that I had never seen Mitchel make over anything except a cheeseburger.

"My God, Mitchy, you've fallen for a girl!"

"You make me sound like a fairy."

"I'll admit I was starting to have my suspicions." I grinned, "Why the hell didn't you fucking tell me?"

Mitchel's jaw dropped slightly and he flung his pencil at my head, luckily it missed and hit some girl in the front row.

"I _did_ tell you, Lilly! On the phone on Friday!" He sighed again, this time with shame, and looked down at his desk.

I stared at him, "You did _not_ tell me." I insisted, wracking my brain for some memory of him mentioning it.

"I knew you weren't listening to me."

"I was totally listening to you..." I frowned, "Sort of."

Mitchel snorted, "Were you making out with your new _boyfriend_?" Mitchel teased. I glared at him. How did he find out about me and Oliver's twisted relationship? He shouldn't make fun of me.

"What are you talking about?" I scoffed, "Don't be a jackass, Mitchel, he's not my boyfriend."

"Oh so you and that big ole' stud of a grizzly bear in the back _aren't_ going to the Homecoming Dance together?" He crooned, gesturing toward Drake. My head shot up and I furrowed my brow.

"Drake?" I glanced back at him. He was playing Chinese Paper Football with his friends. They were all so into it, like it was a real game and a real championship lay on the lines.

Boys are a species that I will never understand.

"Yea." Mitchel tried to meet my eyes, "Who did you think I was talking about?"

I caught his gaze for a split second before looking back down at the desk between us, "I don't...nobody."

"Lil, come on, what's up?" Mitchel leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, and tilted his face in front of mine, "Talk to me Lizzle Jizzle."

I laughed and tucked my hair nervously behind my ear. I tried to force myself to look at him, but I couldnt. Instead I managed a weak shrug and a timid smile.

"It's Oliver." He said softly. Not asking, just knowing. I lowered my head even further, letting it hit the desk with a thud.

Mitchel let out a slow breath and I heard his body shift as he sat back again, "I always kinda figured there was something going on."

I peeked up at him from beneath my hair, "It doesn't shock you?"

"You're kidding right?" He laughed, "It makes sense, Lil. You guys have been one step away from romance for years now. I can see it in his eyes and the way he moves when he's around you. I've been making bets with myself on who'd admit it first."

"Don't tease me."

Mitchel leaned forward again and laid his head down on the desk beside mine so that we were eye to eye, "I'm not."

I bit my lip, "You really think it's mutual?"

"Yes. You really think I'm worthless?"

"Yes."

"Nice."

I lifted my head, resting my chin on my forearm and gazed down at him. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were red, but he looked happy and content. I guess love can be found in the most unsuspected of places. Like Life Studies Class or the candy aisle at a convenience store.

"Mitchel I'm terrified." I whispered. He sat up and reached forward to tuck my bangs behind my ears. They tumbled back across my forehead and he smiled.

"Yea? Well so is he."


	22. Sex and Twinkies

After Mitchel's attempt at moral boosting, I had a hard time meandering through the day without thinking about what he said. Was it really so obvious to everyone else that me and Oliver were so confused? Not even that we were confused but that there was some underlying passion that we were trying to ignore? Did all of our friends see this? Or just the stoner kid?

I pondered over it all through the next two hours and barely managed to redirect my mind long enough to hear Alexis shouting my name as I walked obliviously into a classroom door.

It caught me full on and I tumbled backwards to the floor, sprawling out across the hall like Bambi on the ice. My books scattered everywhere, and people stepped over them, snickering and pointing at me and my Lizzie Maguire moment.

I shook my head and rubbed my temples to try and refocus my doubled vision as Alexis gathered some of my books. She squatted beside me, a hand on my shoulder and checked my eyes.

"Fuck, Lilly! Where the hell were you? Narnia?" She helped me stand up and shot a glare at the boy who had opened the door and knocked me on my ass, "Why don't you get your eyes checked, you near sighted fuckass!" She shouted at him as he loped away, a barely mumbled apology hovering in his wake.

"Shit...that hurt...a lot." I murmured and leaned back against the wall.

"Yea I'll bet." Alexis scolded. She stood in front of me holding my books and waiting for me to fully return to earth. "So what were you so preoccupied with?"

"I don't even know, Lex." I sighed, "I'm really fucked in the head right now."

Her faced softened and she brushed at my hair affectionately, "I know, Lil. Come on, I'll buy you a Twinkie."

Alexis threw an arm around my shoulders and led me down the hallway toward the cafeteria. I followed absently, watching the floor, "How is a Twinkie supposed to help me clear my head?"

Alexis snorted as we reached the vending machines and sent me a slinky smile, "I've always lived by two rules, Lilly." She began as she dug through her back pocket for a dollar, "One: never leave the house without checking to make sure your shirt is right side out." She slid the dollar into the machine and hit the buttons, "And two." She paused again to watch the predominantly processed pastry fall to the slot below, "The best cure for a bad day is sex and Twinkies."

I stared at her as she stopped to tug it out of the bin and then handed it to me. I glanced from the Twinkie to her and then back again several times before she threw it at me.

"I don't wanna know what freaky ass things you and Nick do with your alone time." I said as we continued to the cafeteria. Alexis laughed and pushed open the big glass doors.

"We sit around telling each other housekeeping secrets we read in Martha Stewart Living."

"Yea, naked maybe." I ripped open the package and pulled a chunk off.

Alexis glared at me as we approached the table, "I resent your insinuation that all we do is have sex. I'll have you know that Nick and I do a lot of other really fun things together."

"Do you make pajama pants that say 'Jesus Loves Me' on them?" I asked.

"Fuck no."

"Oh good."

She stopped and crossed her arms, "We take walks and go to the beach and play games. Normal couple stuff."

"What kind of games?" I licked some cream filling from my knuckle and looked up at her quizzically. She shrugged, clearly frustrated, in a very funny way.

"We like to play chess."

"Naked chess."

Alexis swatted the back of my head with a barely suppressed laugh and we moved to join the boys already gathered around the table. Mitchel looked up and winked at me as I slid into the open seat beside Oliver.

"Hey." Oliver smiled at me. I set my Twinkie on the table in front of me and smiled back.

"So, Lilly, I heard through the grape vine that you have a date for the Homecoming Dance." Nick chuckled. I narrowed my eyes at him and shifted in my seat.

"Really?" Oliver turned to stare at me, "I thought you sai--"

"Yea he's a football hero too." David joined in, pulling a very dramatic passing pose. I refocused my glare at the half eaten Twinkie in front of me.

"Footballs a pussy sport." Nick shook his head scornfully, his humor lost, swallowed up by his loathing of our schools primary athletic focus, "Our soccer team has more wins under its belt _this year_ than the football team has had the past four."

"Don't worry, buddy, someday they'll open their eyes." Mitchel stuffed a forkful of cafeteria food into his mouth.

Nick let out a sardonic laugh and tossed a grape into Andy's milk carton, "Yea, they'll open 'em when I fucking nail the principal in the testicles with a soccer ball."

"Yes, Nick, use violence to make your point." Alexis rolled her eyes, "All you'll show them is that the soccer players need to lay off the Gatorade."

Nick proceeded to tell Alexis exactly how useful Gatorade could be, what with the electrolytes and whatnot. And Alexis proceeded to tell Nick exactly how much she cared about electrolytes. I kept my eyes trained on the table, trying to count the marble spots to avoid looking up and meeting Oliver's steady stare. Or lack thereof. I made a very sneaky glance upward and saw that he was also fixated on the table, and I knew it wasn't because he had a strange fascination with crusted salad dressing.

I don't know if the others at the table were purposefully ignoring our awkward reverse staring contest, or if they were actually so wrapped up in their discussion of whether or not Gatorade counted as a performance enhancer like steroids, that they were virtually oblivious to the world around them.

Finally Oliver's voice entered the atmosphere around my head as he said very quietly, "Why didn't you say anything this morning?"

I waited a minute before blinking slowly and answering without looking up, "Say anything about what? My newfound love of anything Shia LaBeouf, or the fact that I don't _really_ know how to swing dance?"

I could hear Oliver sigh, but I could feel in the sigh that he wasn't really sure he wanted to talk about that morning anyway.

"The swing dancing." He answered. I nodded and looked up at him for the first time. He was still staring at the table top, but I knew he was really focused intently on me. Any shift in my body or intake of breath. The tiniest toss of my head or switch in my tone. He was taking it all in and trying to find a hidden meaning. Trying to break it all down and see where my head was, see where I was going before it happened. Before I even knew.

I could tell he was doing this because its exactly what I was doing.

That whole, sixth sense thing I mentioned.

"Well, Oken, I have a general idea of how to swing dance. But it was a horrendous lie when I said I was a professional."

Oliver laughed and reached for what was left of my Twinkie, "Can I have this?" He asked, his eyebrows raised and his eyes big and innocent. I pretended to consider it for a minute; squinting and rubbing my chin.

"Yes, but it'll cost you."

"Name it."

"Well since I already own your soul, maybe you could give me that brownie." I smiled and pointed to the Little Debbie snack sitting near Oliver's elbow.

He turned and grabbed it, holding it out to me, but stopped and pulled it away, "I'm gonna need you to do something for me."

I glared at him and made a swipe for the brownie, "That's not really how this whole trading thing works, Oliver."

He laughed and slid the brownie under his t-shirt. I opened my mouth to protest and shut it quickly, staring after my dessert as it disappeared in a place I had only ever dreamed of going. I glanced up at Oliver, "You're underestimating me."

"No I'm not." He smirked.

"Oh so you think I _won't_ spear you off your chair and tear your shirt to shreds for a brownie?"

Oliver's cheeky grin spread wider, "I'm one hundred percent aware that you would do that and so much worse for a crumb of a brownie."

"Spare your corny clothing and give me that brownie."

"There's nothing corny about Smurfs."

"I swear to God,Oliver, if you don't give me tha---" I watched Oliver dip the tip of his forefinger into the cream filling and lick it off, his eyes trained on my face the entire time. After that it took me a long time to get myself back on track and before I could speak, Oliver leaned forward, a centimeter from my ear, and whispered;

"Just save me a dance?"

I moved my head to look at him. He had the smallest of hopeful smiles on his face, almost masked with defensive cockiness, but not enough that I couldn't see right through it. I smiled and slid my hand quickly up the front of his shirt, grabbing the brownie and earning the softest of gasps from his lips as my hand brushed over his skin.

"Done."


	23. Because Mitchel is PIMP

I had exactly one week before the Homecoming dance. One week to steady my nerves for entering the gymnasium on the arm of the captain of the football team, one week to learn how to walk more than two steps in high heels without falling on my face, and one week to find a dress that looked decent on me.

I have little to no faith in my ability to radiate feminism. Fourteen years with a male best friend was probably to blame.

The second the final bell of the day rang I was clinging desperately to Alexis's arm, begging her to come shopping with me.

"I can't today, Lil. I have practice." She told me apologetically. I glared at her and threw myself dramatically against her locker.

"But you suck at volleyball." I whined. She pinched my arm, making me let out a horrendous squealing yelp, and turned around to make her way to the locker room. I shoved myself off of the wall and latched onto her waist.

"Lilly!" She shouted, nearly stumbling into our English teacher.

"I'm desperate!" I cried, "You _know_ I have zero fashion sense and even _less_ common sense. I won't be able to pick a dress without you!"

Alexis rolled her eyes but a smirk found its way to her lips, "Lilly, you'll look amazing in anything. Besides it doesn't matter what you wear, you're going to be the center of his attention."

"Whose attention?" I feigned innocence, "Mr. Engle the band teacher? Or Pop'n'Fresh. Because I am _so_ tryin' to get all up in his play dough."

"_Oliver_!" Alexis shoved me, "You could go in a fucking paper sack and he still wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of you."

I felt myself begin to blush and turned away from her, "I still want to look good." I admitted shyly, "This is so stupid. But I just want to...ya know..." I trailed off.

"Want to what?"

I hesitated, debating whether or not the suffering I'd endure after uttering this sentence would be worth it, "I want to...take his breath away."

Alexis's smile grew and she nudged me playfully, "You want to look sexy. You want to give him a boner."

"Ahhh, Alexis!" I covered my ears and whined loudly until she stopped teasing me, "That was so vulgar." I murmured after uncovering my ears. She grinned at me and shifted the large duffle bag on her shoulder.

"Look, Lil, I'd be more than ecstatic to go help you buy the sex dress of your dreams, but I really need to go to practice, because like you said, I suck at volleyball." She sighed and I pulled a grimace at her use of the term "sex dress".

"Lex, you're the Rachael to my Monica." I gave her the most piteous, pathetic puppy dog eyes imaginable, and all she did was snort at my audacity in using a serious and appropriate metaphor involving characters from Friends.

"If you can possibly find a way to suppress your insatiable need to panic until tomorrow, then I'll throw on my bling and we'll paint the mall neon."

I shook my head, "Wait, what?"

Alexis fluttered her eyelashes at me and ruffled my hair, "If not, then take Mitchel. We all know he has a Queer Eye."

I furrowed my eyebrows and scratched my chin, putting on a very impressive look of Martin Sheen style contemplation before responding, "That's not a bad idea."

"Of course not." She pecked me on the cheek and started toward the gym, flipping me the bird as she did. I scowled after her, trying with every fiber of my being to curse her so she got hit in the head every five minutes with a volley ball.

I made it out to the parking lot before I even spotted Mitchel. When I did it was all I could do not to keel over with laughter. He was standing with Summer next to her car, with her purse slung over his shoulder and her books cradled in his arms. She wasn't unlocking the door or turning on the stereo or anything that required two hands, she was just standing there flirting with him, and from what I could see she wasn't even very good at it.

I watched her throw her head back and laugh manically at something stupid he had said, and then she reached out and swatted his arm playfully, nearly knocking all of her shit to the ground in the process. Mitchel teetered on one foot for a whole two minutes, on the brink of disaster, as she turned around finally to slide into her car. Then he set her things in the back seat and leaned in the driver's window to give, what I noticed, was a very passionate and long lasting kiss.

It was probably really juicy too.

The kind of kiss I was still waiting for from Oliver.

...or anyone for that matter...

As soon as Summer had pulled out of the parking lot, I made my way over to Mitchel.

"Mitchel the P-I-M-P." I did my best Snoop Dogg impression and jumped on his back.

"Get off of me you Hippo." He joked and spun around really fast, making me emit a very involuntary squeal and tighten my grip on his shoulders.

When he stopped and I slid from his back I immediately swung my arm around his neck and gave him a noogie. He swatted at my hands.

"No touching the hair!" He shouted, gripping my wrists and giving the crazy stoner eyes. I snorted with laughter.

"When the fuck did _you_ start caring about your _hair_?"

Mitchel let go of my wrists and leaned down to adjust his hair in the reflection of a car window, "I don't." He insisted, "Summer said--"

"Whipped!" I punched him in the shoulder. He yelped and clutched at it, shooting me a glare.

"First of all, _ow_!" He shook his head at me, "And second of all, I am _not_ whipped." He reached into his bag hanging low by his hip and pulled out his trucker hat, the one that was usually surgically attached to his head.

"Sure your not. That's why you let Summer tell you to remove this thing--" I rapped on the bill of the hat as he tugged it onto his head, "--even though we all know its your main source of brain power. Without it you can barely manage blinking and _walking_ at the same time."

Mitchel leaned back down to check the exact tilt of his precious hat in the car window again before scolding me, "If you would ever shut the fuck up for more than two milliseconds at a time then you would have heard the entirety of my sentence."

"You make it sound like I'm always talking or something."

"Well, you are." He smiled, "I was trying to tell you that Summer said your sweater today really brings out the green in your eyes."

I smiled at the compliment, "Well you can tell Summer that I said thank you but I don't muff dive. I have a hard time holding my breath."

Mitchel's jaw dropped and he shoved me, "You're a disgusting excuse for a girl."

"True." I rose my forefinger in the air as if making a groundbreaking statement. "Which is why I went out of my way to ogle you and your butch snogging each other in the parking lot, so I could cordially invite you to go Homecoming dress shopping with me."

Mitchel stared at me for a long minute, "I'm not sure what part of that to address first."

"I find it's usually a good idea to start at the beginning."

"Okay." Mitchel took a deep breath, "My _butch_?"

"I saw you holding her shit." I shrugged, "You, my friend, are _so_ the bitch in that relationship.

"And you want me to go dress shopping with you?"

"You're the Will to my Grace." I pride myself on being able to make sense of any situation using characters from long running sitcoms.

"I'm not gay, Lil." Mitchel rolled his eyes.

"But you have a very compromising sense of style." I waited patiently for two heartbeats before hurling myself to my knees and wrapping my arms around his legs, "Please, Mitchy! I'm so lost and alone in the crazy mixed up world! The mall is no place for someone like me!"

"Fashion victims with big boobs and short abdomens?"

I ignored his comment and gave him huge, sinister eyes, "I'll buy you a smoothie."

Mitchel grinned down at me, "Alright, let's go shopping."

I stood up and threw my arms around his neck, "I promise I won't ever tell anyone you're addicted to animal porn ever again!"

"Wait, what?"

I let go of him, "Wal-Mart then?"

Mitchel stared at me, "You're joking, right?"

I just blew him a kiss and started toward his car. When we were both seated and he had begun to back out of his space, Mitchel turned to me, "Did you say you were ogling me and Summer snogging in the parking lot?"

"Don't get a big head about it, " I sniffed and tossed my feet up on the dashboard, "I ogle everyone when they snog in the parking lot."

----------------------------------------------

I stood in the tiny changing booth, staring at my reflection in the full length mirror, trying to decide on a scale of one to ten, just how much of a disaster it would be to go out in public in that dress.

"Lilly?" Mitchel called from outside the door, "Come on, let me see it."

I tugged at the low neckline, so low it plummeted in between my breasts, and muttered a few curse words at how awkward my chest looked.

"No." I said back. There was a groan and Mitchel knocked on the door.

"Lil, I'm here to help you, but I can't really do that if you won't let me see you in the dresses." He paused, "This is the third one and you still won't come out."

I pouted at myself and pulled aside the edges of the thigh high slit in the ankle length dress. I jutted out my leg and attempted a seductive pose.

"Lillian." Mitchel said again. I sighed dramatically.

"I can't, Mitchy, I look like an idiot."

"You're wearing the black one right?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's not possible."

His words made me smile and I reached for the doorknob, "You can't laugh." I warned.

"Cross my heart."

I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and pulled the door open. Mitchel stepped back and stared at me. His mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were so wide he reminded me of a chinchilla.

I grew self-conscious under his gaze and started to retreat back into the dressing room, but Mitchel reached out and grabbed my arm.

"You look..." He shook his head slowly, "Amazing, Lilly."

Even though it was Mitchel, I was as red as a fucking tomato.

"Really?" I asked timidly, the grin on my face so big and tight I thought my face might split in two.

Mitchel nodded furiously, "I almost wish I had asked you." He laughed, "To get to look at you in that all night..." He trailed off and shook his head again, "Oliver isn't gonna know what hit him."

The smile on my face faltered, "But _I'm_ not going with Oliver." I sighed, "Katie, his _girlfriend_ is. I'm going with _Drake_. Everyone seems to be forgetting that. Even me."

Mitchel grabbed both of my hands and held them out so he could get a broader view of me in the dress, "A trivial catch." He smiled reassuringly, "She's only still a part of this because Oliver's too much of a pussy to go after what he really wants. He always has been. Sure he puts on that he's Mr. Charisma, but he's just as scared as the rest of us." Mitchel raised his eyes to meet mine, "Deep down, he's just a kid."

I turned around so he could zip it up the rest of the way, studying him in the mirror as he fumbled with the clasps and continued speaking, "As for Draje, " He bit down on his tongue, concentrating very hard, "You shouldn't date a guy with Dennis the Menace tattooed on his ass cheek anyway."

I frowned and turned around to face him, "For real?"

Mitchel smirked and shrugged, "Sometimes I do deals in the locker room with players after practice."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the image of Mitchel selling weed to a buck naked Drake. Especially when there was a little blond cartoon boy carrying a slingshot permanently imprinted on his butt.

I stared at Mitchel for a long time while he fussed with the rumpled waist of my dress. For being a lifelong stoner, born with a bong in his hand, he was unbelievably perceptive, and indisputably intelligent.

"There, " He stood up straight and stepped back to admire me one more time, "Of course, you can't wear the bright green bra with it."

I glanced down at the undergarment peeking out between the folds of my dress and laughed, tugging it around to cover it up. Then I looked back up at Mitchel and smiled, "Thank you."

He nodded, knowing full well that I didn't just mean for picking out the dress. Then I spun around and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

Maybe he was right, I didn't look so ridiculous after all.


	24. SANAGRISAPA

Mitchel dropped me off at my house after another hour of standing awkwardly outside the mall doors second guessing my purchase and pretending I wasn't hungry even though I was just because I was feeling self conscious about the whole dress thing.

I came frighteningly close to throttling Mitchel and making away with his pretzel.

He will never know how close he came to losing a hand.

It's probably for the best.

I crawled out of Mitchel's car, moaning with hunger pain and dragging my shopping bag along behind me.

"Go eat something, stupid." He shouted at me. I slid the rest of the way out the door and curled up in a ball on the sidewalk.

"I swear, I'm not hungry." I groaned. Mitchel revved his engine.

"Oliver's here."

I sat up with a bolt of sudden energy, my eyes wide like a deer in headlights, and almost squealed when I spotted Oliver's car in my driveway.

I jumped to my feet, taking a second to cringe at the loud, painful rumble of my stomach, "What are you waiting for?" I hissed at Mitchel, "Away with you!"

Mitchel reached into his glove box and tossed a package of sweet tarts in my direction. I barely caught them, shooting him a dirty look as they slipped through my fingers.

"Sure, throw candy at the fatty." I snarled, "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"I figured the sugar would tide you over until you're alone so you'll fucking eat." Mitchel shook his head, "Do you have any idea how severely I'll murder your ass if you get all stupid and girly on me?"

I fluttered my eyelashes at him and peered down into my bag, "**I**!" I paused for dramatic effect, "Am a woman." Then I turned and started slowly for the porch, "So suck my balls."

"Go find Oliver." Mitchel chuckled.

"Okay."

"Peace out, Dr. Frank-N-Furter." Mitchel waved as he pulled away from the curb, and I waved after him with my middle finger.

I watched his car disappear around the corner before racing toward the porch. I leapt flawlessly over both steps only to crash full on into Oliver as he came out the front door.

There were a few painfully awkward seconds of full frontal body contact before we were both stable again.

Oliver smiled at me, an only slightly restricted laugh escaping him, "Hello, Starshine."

"Salutations." I slapped a hand playfully against his chest. Oliver stepped backwards slowly, still grinning at me, and sat carefully down on the porch swing.

"I heard you bought your homecoming dress."

"Sure did." I leaned casually against the railing adjacent from him.

Oliver cocked his head to the side, "Can I see it?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and glanced down into the bag I still clutched tightly in my fist, "Uh. . .no."

"Uh. . .why not?" Oliver mocked me.

I shrugged and moved the bag behind my back protectively, "I think it's bad luck or something."

"Mitchel got to." Oliver whined, looking very pathetically insulted.

I smiled at him sweetly, "Yes, well I haven't seen Mitchel naked."

"Oh and that makes a difference?"

"Theoretically speaking."

Oliver shook his head and sat forward on the swing, "First of all, we were eight."

I had to physically suppress the very animated grin that wanted to appear on my face.

"And secondly, " He continued, "That was an accident. I had no idea you were going to walk in."

"You were in _my_ room, Oliver." I chuckled. He scooted forward further as he got more heated.

"Yea, but you were _supposed_ to be at girl scouts." Oliver pointed accusingly at me.

"Oh come on, you knew I never actually _went_ to girl scouts." I dropped the bag behind me and crossed my arms. Oliver scowled at me and sat back slowly.

"Touche."

"Besides you never really told me _why_ you were naked in my room." I pointed out suspiciously.

Oliver shrugged and kicked his feet up on the railing, "It will forever be a mystery."

"But you used my favorite stuffed animal as a loin clothe!" I shouted with horrified recollection. Oliver smirked at me.

"It was really soft."

I shook my head at him, blatantly disturbed, "I can't even look at Baby Elton the Anteater anymore without seeing your scrawny body attached to him."

Oliver's smirk got worse and he plucked absently at the hem of his shirt, "I look a lot better naked now."

My head shot up and I tried to disguise the blush that I felt heat up my face. Our eyes met for a split second during which I noticed that Oliver was definitely blushing too, before we both looked away awkwardly.

Stop the unfair, dirty thoughts.

Nearly an entire minute passed by in excruciating silence when Oliver cleared his throat and spoke.

"Wanna hear something really sick?" He asked.

I looked up at him, thankful for the distraction and disregard of what we were both quite obviously thinking about.

"Sicker than you violating Baby Elton?"

"Very much so. Like twenty times sicker."

"I'm intrigued."

Oliver straightened himself up and smiled at me condescendingly, "I, Oliver Oken, was nominated for Homecoming King."

I didn't mean to, but I snorted.

Oliver gave me a hurt look as I struggled to control my laughter, "Oken your pretends are getting less and less believable."

He sighed dramatically, "If only it was pretend."

I shook my head, "I refuse to believe you." I said stubbornly.

Oliver sat forward, his feet hitting the porch with a loud, indignant thud, "I will fucking show you the fucking ballot!"

Once again, I didn't mean to, but I snorted.

"Than fucking show me the fucking ballot!" I mocked him.

Oliver stood up quickly, visibly flustered, and dug through his pocket hurriedly.

"I will."

I watched him for a second, trying desperately to find the correct pocket, "It better not be on construction paper in green crayon.." I warned him playfully.

He glared at me and produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket, "Here."

I took it slowly and opened it. Indeed, it was a valid Homecoming ballot. And indeed, Oliver's name was on it. Right below Drake. I read it over three times before I believed it.

"I'm voting for you." I said finally. Oliver let out a groan.

"Don't vote for me."

I folded the ballot, "I'm doing it."

"Lils, no, it's bad enough my name is even _on_ that thing." He sighed, "I can't _win_."

I gave him an incredulous, sarcastic look, "Like my vote is going to make a difference."

Oliver sucked in a deep breath, "It makes a big difference to _me_."

I met his eyes and held them for a long time, carefully analyzing exactly what he meant by that and coming up with nothing other than the obvious.

"Please, Lilly?"

I sighed loudly and rolled my eyes at his pleading puppy-dog look, "Alright, but I'm keeping this." I slid the ballot into my back pocket, "Besides, I'm sure the 4H candidate would appreciate my vote."

Oliver grinned, "Thanks."

"And hey, if you win anyway, we'll just switch clothes in the bathroom and I'll go up and give a speech for you." I added excitedly.

"Don't forget to thank the academy." Oliver leaned back opposite me.

I nodded, "And profess your undying love of all things Willy Wonka."

Oliver laughed, "I'd love to get my hands on a pair of those purple latex gloves." He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

"So you can spank the Oompa Loompas?" I asked, arching my own eyebrow.

"So I can spank Baby Elton." He corrected cheekily. My jaw dropped.

"Thats it, " I threw my hands in the air, "I am starting the Stuffed Anteaters Named After Gay Rock Icons Sexual Abuse Prevention Association."

Oliver chuckled, "SANAGRISAPA?"

"It's a mouthful." I thought for a moment, "We'll call it the Oliver Oken Prevention Association for short."

"Ah yes, but then the world will know exactly how much you really do love me."

I opened my mouth to respond but changed my mind and looked down at my feet. After a second of silence I licked my lips and whispered, ". . . they could never know that."

Another beat of silence before Oliver followed with, ". . . ditto."

I looked up at him curiously. He was watching me the exact same way. There was something going on here, and I was getting more and more confused with each comment he made that held some other hidden meaning. Or maybe they weren't so much hidden as timid.

Oliver pushed off the wall and stepped closer to me, his hand coming forward to touch my cheek. I could feel him shaking nervously as his fingers brushed over my skin. I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat as he leaned down toward my face. His lips hovered, so close I could feel them tickling against my own.

"Oliver. . ." I whispered, my voice scratching painfully as I forced it out. He didn't back off and he didn't get any closer, but he did take in a sharp breath.

"I have to go." He said. I could hear the same strangled will power come out as his breath cascaded against my face.

"Okay." I croaked back. Oliver's eyes scanned my face rapidly and his chest heaved in and out with each deep breath; it matched the eager but terrified rhythm of my own, and he was standing so close that we touched each time.

His head dipped a fraction of a centimeter closer, but still he didn't kiss me. Then he stood up straight and swallowed loudly, running a hand over his forehead.

"What?" I felt the sting of tears hit the back of my throat and my eyes. Why was he doing this? Getting so close but always holding himself back. If he wanted me the way I wanted him, why the _fuck_ was he acting like this was so wrong? "What, Oliver?" I repeated.

He held his breath briefly before clearing his throat again and answering, "It's, uh. . my parent's anniversary." He said very softly.

My body slumped with a mixture of relief, shame and sympathy. Oliver was going through something terrible, and I was being selfish.

He nodded slowly and wouldn't meet my eyes, "My mom doesn't wanna be. . .ya know, alone."

I stepped forward and reached for his hand. It was trembling.

So was mine.

"Do you. . .want me to come with you?" I asked carefully. Oliver looked up, locking eyes with me.

And I almost died inside when I saw the tears gathering in the corners.

He just stared at me for the longest time, fighting back the sadness. Oliver was stronger than I could ever hope to be, but sometimes it's just too hard to force everything down.

His grip tightened on my hand as the tiny drops crept over his eyelid and began to slide down his cheeks.

Oliver stomped his foot and bit down on his lip, frustrated by his falling tears. My mouth fell open as a silent sob escaped me and I reached up with my free hand to wipe them gently away.

He struggled with words for a bit, stopping my hand with his and holding it against his face, "Yea." He answered finally. I nodded slowly, mesmerized as the tears seemed to stop instantly.

Oliver sighed shakily and turned to step off the porch, still holding onto my hand with so much force that a fleeting worry of broken bones entered my mind, but I didn't say a word.

Because he needed me.


	25. I Thought Conditioner Was Waste Of Money

The remainder of that One Week before the dance went by as fast as if it had only been One Day. And because of all the really super Homecoming festivities, Oliver had been pretty much MIA since his nomination burped out of the P.A. Tuesday afternoon. So I hadn't really had a chance to see him let alone speak to him. Needless to say I was pretty much a walking ball of nerves.

Nerves and vomit.

Vomit that threatened to spew forth at any given moment.

Specifically the moment Drake caught my arm in the hallway and pressed a rather moist kiss to my right cheek.

I caught the vomit before it erupted out of my mouth, even thought it just might have been worth it to throw up all over his football cleats.

"So is tonight our first date? Or our second?" Drake whispered as he redirected me toward his own locker.

I tasted twice as much vomit that time.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, pausing to study the pained expression on my face. I covered my mouth and nodded. Drake barely missed a beat.

"I mean, I wouldn't necessarily count that party as a _date_. But we can't just ignore the fact that we've made out, ya know?" He smirked at me, and I swear to God my liver tried to crawl up my throat.

I managed to swallow everything and force a smile, but I _knew_ that if I tried to say anything. . .well, there would be no salvaging the relationship.

Drake didn't really seem to notice as he tossed his books into his locker and threw an arm casually around my shoulders. We wandered down the hallway in silence, Drake greeting every single time worthy person to cross our path; and me praying nonstop for the apocalypse.

Then an angel dressed solely in black and red called my name above the sea of students, and I actually cried out with glee.

"Hey, Oliver!" I shouted back to him, bringing Drake to a halt in the middle of the stampede.

"Lilly, come on--"

"Oliver, hey how's it going?" I asked breathlessly Oliver shoved his way over to us. He eyeballed Drake briefly before shoving his hands into his pockets and smiling down at me.

"It's going."

"Lilly I have to get to practice." Drake nudged my side. I glanced at him over my shoulder but focused directly on Oliver as I responded.

"Ok so go. You don't need me to throw around a ball, do you?"

The look on Drake's face matched the look on a kindergartener's face when you're forced to tell them that you're all out of elephant shaped animal crackers.

"I just thought we--"

"Come on, do you _really_ think watching you practice football is going to be at all stimulating for me?" I pleaded, although my plead was an awfully distracted one.

Drake opened and shut his mouth twice while I shot Oliver a flirtatious smile. He covered up a chuckle with a very lame sounding cough.

"Besides, " I spun around and placed my hands boldly on Drake's shoulders, "The big dance is tonight. I need all afternoon to get ready."

Drake looked ready to call my bluff (the snort from Oliver didn't help I'm sure) so I sucked in my pride and kissed Drake softly on the lips.

"You want me to look beautiful, right?"

Drake almost immediately broke out into a sleazy grin and nodded, "Alright go ahead."

Oh, you go girlfriend. I got him _whipped_.

"I'll see you later." I smiled and shoved myself away from him roughly, grabbed onto Oliver's arm and practically flew off toward the front doors. When we got outside Oliver stopped me and spun me around to face him.

"Slow down, Sparky." He laughed, "You won't miss your hair appointment."

I scowled at him, "Who says I have a hair appointment?"

He shrugged. That was all, and Oliver Oscar Oken disappeared.

He was silent for a minute, which was awkwardly too long a time span, but what he broke that silence with was decidedly more awkward. More simply put; that apocalypse I was praying for, well it quite possibly came and went during this sentence.

"Did you have to kiss him?" He asked me. I stared at him, blinked at him, narrowed my eyes at him. Then I retorted with a confused and strangely insulted, but always effective:

"What?"

Oliver just looked at the ground and shook his head, "Never mind."

I stared at him incredulously, "No, Oliver, tell me what."

Oliver still didn't look at me as he carefully stammered a response, "I just. . .I mean we. . " Then he stopped and looked up at me beseechingly. I held his nervous frustrated gaze for a long time before relenting.

"Yea."

He seemed to relax a little and turned to survey the emptying parking lot.

"So what time is that hair appointment?"

I rolled my eyes but smiled nonetheless, "Five thirty." I answered sulkily, "And I really don't want to go."

Oliver chuckled and stuffed his hands in his pockets, "You'll survive, trust me. Besides it's not like they can do much to improve your do."

"Oh, Oliver, no flattery please, I already love you."

"Your hair is so straightened it'd take eight gallons of hair spray to hold a single curl."

I snatched up a few strands of my blond hair and peered at the split ends staring back at me, "And now I forget why I thought conditioner was a waste of money."

"Not to mention time better spent lathering your breasts." Oliver wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I dropped my hair and fluttered my eyelashes at him.

"We aren't all as endowed as you."

Oliver shook his head, "I'd say we're pretty equally endowed. Just in different places." And although his tone was playful, I swear I caught his eyes drifting below my collarbone.

I couldn't even try to stop my flustered laugh.

But, once again, Oliver abolished the awkwardness as well as slammed us right back where we started, "So I assume Alexis is the mastermind behind your very first hair-dressing experience?"

I shook my head, "Actually Mitchel made the appointment. But Alexis did say that it was unnatural for an eighteen year old girl to be a salon virgin."

Oliver nodded, "I myself was deflowered years ago."

"Not surprising." I muttered. He shoved me gently, his hands still deep inside his pockets.

A familiar gesture that had somehow turned shy over the past few weeks together.

"So. . ." He said softly, "Do you wanna hang out and I'll drop you off at five thirty?"

I grinned and looped my arm through his, thankful for the contact as well as the idea of simply spending time with him at long last.

"Hellz yea."

Oliver and I spent two and a half hours listening to my parent's thirty something year old vinyl records and trying to figure out which songs best described our affection for pudding, or at least our passion for movies starring one or more of the Baldwin brothers.

Then at five twenty-six he left me standing on the sidewalk outside a very frighteningly upscale looking salon with nothing but a charming smile and a vague promise of seeing me later. It was vague because I don't think either of us was so sure that I wouldn't have an anxiety attack sometime between our parting and the looming dance.

I'd never been one to do high school sociality exceptionally well.

Come to think of it I'd never been one to do sociality in general exceptionally well.

But I waited semi-patiently nonetheless, in an unbelievably comfort-wise deceiving red leather chair, for Alexis to arrive and strap me into the spinning seat that quite terrifyingly resembled an electric chair.

"Hey, Lils, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised you showed up." Alexis greeted as she slid through the door. I swiveled sideways to face her without taking my eyes off of the humming hair dryers.

"There is no way in hell that I am putting my head in there." I warned her. In response, Alexis smiled, genuinely amused, and walked to the front desk to check us in.

Nearly an hour and forty-five minutes later, I paid a shocking amount of money to the hairdresser that will forever remain undisclosed, and tiptoed out of the salon.

"Lilly." Alexis laughed, "What the hell are you doing?"

I lifted my hands above my head to guard my expensive curls as I ducked carefully into her car, "This mound of dead cells and hairspray cost me a whopping amount of money that, frankly, I was saving to rescue the Beatles music from Michael Jackson. I will be taking zero risks from this moment on."

"You have way too much free time." Alexis mused as she started the car.

"And you have way too much pink nail polish, but you never hear me complain, do you?"

She ignored me and we made our way back to my house to squeeze into our dresses.


	26. What The Hell Kinda Name Is Drake ?

Nick picked Alexis up from my house a mere fifteen minutes before Draje and his jock friends happened along. He said that they were on their way to haul Oliver out of his closet because he was _actually_ panicking about the whole Homecoming nomination thing. Panicking was never a Oliver-like thing to do. Somehow he had managed to keep his cool, or at least a very believable fabrication of his cool, even when his favorite hoodie caught on fire in chem. class. While he was wearing it.

I sent my love along with them in the form of a hastily folded origami Viking hat made out of a Dum-Dum wrapper with Oliver's name scribbled across the front in purple sharpie.

I knew that he would get a kick out of it because he already had at least three dozen of them in various sizes and colors and candy wrappers stuffed all over his bedroom.

What can I say? I find a talent and I run with it.

When the completely unnecessarily narcissistic hummer limousine pulled up in front of my house, I checked my reflection in the mirror that hung in the hall and began savagely tugging every pin from my piled-high hair. The last of which hit the rug at the exact moment that Drake rang my doorbell.

"I got it, honey." My mother yelled from the kitchen. Silently I thanked her and swung my head down between my knees, raking my fingers through it to loosen the hairspray. I could hear Drake and my parents talking quietly about school and future plans and all that customary but pointless parent/date drabble. I swung my head back up and looked in the mirror.

It was wild. It was messy. It was utterly unique in a very anxiety inducing way.

I tried to smooth it down a little with some saliva and only succeeded in making my hands smell like spearmint Tic Tacs.

But, still, I liked it better than the up-do.

Which meant only one thing really.

Next time I saw Mitchel I needed to kick him in the shin for syking me into getting my hair done. Natural me was much less nauseating.

I descended the stairs after one final barely reassuring glance in the mirror to affirm my lazy, random curls that probably cost more than my entire c.d. collection and my tattered high tops put together.

As I reached the landing and caught Drake's eye I started to feel a little less self-conscious and a little more weary of not pocketing that mace I saw next to the register at the mall. Immediately his face lit up with what I can only describe as determined lust, and I felt mine heat up in what was probably misinterpreted as naive flattery.

"Hi there." He said confidently. I shot my parents a look and smiled shyly at Drale.

"Hey, Drake."

He took my hand gently in his and pressed his lips to my knuckles in a very suave parental unit impressing move that I had only ever seen done in crappy teen-love flicks or smoky Film Noire movies from the 1940's.

"You look stunning, Lilly." He said politely against my skin. His lips tickled me and made me smile involuntarily.

"Thank you." I responded softly, and bid goodbye to my parents.

That's right mom and dad, you're allowing your one and only offspring to head out into the dangerous world with this tongue-pierced jock who quite possibly wants to rape her and quite probably has some kind of venereal disease.

At my funeral they'll play greatest hits of Celine Dion or something equally mortifying like that.

I tugged nervously at the fabric between my breasts as we made our way out to the limo, perfectly alert and aware of Drake's hand slipping casually and progressively lower on my back. Just before he opened the door for me, he pressed his mouth against my ear and whispered, "You look so sexy in that dress."

I felt my chest tighten and I briefly debated how attached I was to the money in my savings account. Because if he tried anything, I was going to need every penny to bail myself out of jail after they file those assault and battery charges.

I gave him a tart smile and accepted the chaste kiss he placed on my lips, not taking for granted for a single second that my parents could still be watching from the window.

So he's one of the smart, calculating rapists you hear about on America's Most Wanted, I think I can handle that.

We got into the limo and rode to the school, myself in silence and Drake chatting away loudly with his friends and their dates. I accepted, gratefully, the bottle of spiked Minute Made orange juice that was being passed ceremoniously around the limo.

Drake noticed my fervor in adding alcohol to my blood stream, and acknowledged it with a sleazy smirk and a warm, cologne covered, tuxedo clad arm draped across my shoulders.

Oh look, the nerves and vomit are back.

When we got out of the limo and reached the doors to the gymnasium, I began instantly searching the crowd for Oliver, unsuccessfully. Drake bent his arm and smiled at me, inviting me to link mine through it and follow his swaggering self into the Disney-esque room of crate paper and balloons. But he stopped before entering, behind another couple that I recognized as a girl nominated for Homecoming Queen and her surgically attached boy-toy.

I glanced around nervously, seeing another nominated person and their date behind us waiting patiently for the same apparent _something_ that we were.

"Wait, what's going on?" I asked Drake frantically. He frowned down at me.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why are we standing here in a line? Why are we cattle?" I asked him, craning my neck to see if I could spot Oliver in the line. I thought I glimpsed his red and black hair behind the nerdy boy nominated simply for the sake of carrying on the schools "we're all people" policy.

Drake laughed, "The Grand March."

My attention snapped back to him, "Sorry, Grand what now?"

"Grand March." He repeated, his tone already slightly exasperated.

I felt my eyes pop animatedly out of my skull, "You never said anything about marching, let alone doing it grandly."

Drake shook his head, "Lilly, it's tradition."

"I've always enjoyed going against the grain." I sputtered pleadingly.

He sighed and tugged my arm gently as our little 'lamb-before-slaughter' line began to inch forward, "Come on, the candidates and their dates walk through and start the first dance. It's painless."

"Speak for yourself." I muttered under my breath as I considered offering to give him a good ol' snog in that limo if it meant we could forgo the fashion show in front of the entire student body.

The line moved again and Drake pulled me almost forcefully along, "You're making way too big a deal out of this."

I managed to stall him for a millisecond, "Maybe, but I'm not the one who decided this thing warranted a parade."

I saw him roll his eyes, which infuriated me.

You would think that provoking his dates rage and diminishing his chances of getting laid would be at the bottom of his list of things to do at the dance.

There was a loud starting up of sickening music and the double doors burst open to reveal the gym. I swallowed a huge, humiliated lump that had quickly formed in my throat and took a step forward as Drake pulled at my arm.

"Let's go." He ordered curtly. And despite my overwhelming urge to stomp my feet and pout like a child, I actually obeyed him and relented to becoming a piece of meat for the masses.

When the cheering and clapping and chaperone shushed booing finally ceased and the excruciating first dance finished, I retreated to the refreshment table in search of some member of my limo party who happened to have snuck in the bottle from the ride over. Instead I found Mitchel. Dressed in a dashing tuxedo with his hair combed and covered with a very spiffy looking fedora.

Of course, because Mitchel without a hat wouldn't be Mitchel at all.

"Hey, Mitchy!" I shouted to him over the roar of the music.

He turned around and grinned at me, "Sup, Lil?"

I approached him and sauntered around him in a slow circle, examining his attire exaggeratedly.

"Wow, Mitchel you look so. . ." I paused.

"Sexy?" He cut in with an arched eyebrow and a superior smile.

"Yea." I admitted with an affirmative and awed nod.

Mitchel rolled his eyes and gazed out over the dance floor, "Try not to sound so shocked."

I chuckled, "Sorry, it's just. . .wow."

"Wow yourself." Mitchel retorted, giving me the once over. I felt a blush creep up my neck and turned toward the table covered in paper cups.

"Yea, sure. So where's Summer?"

He sighed and shrugged, "We came separate. She had some last minute dress emergency."

"Like what? She realized she was dating Mr. Dazed and Confused himself and opted for a dress she can pull over her head?"

"Hardy har har." Mitchel smiled at me sarcastically and snorted at my lame crack about his coordination deficiency, "Where's the baboon?"

I blinked rapidly and picked up a cup of punch, "I didn't come with your mom."

"Oh snap!" Mitchel slapped his knee, "You're just fuckin full of it tonight, eh?"

I lifted the paper cup to my lips, "What can I say? I'm really feeling the magic of the evening."

"Yea, crate paper and confetti will do that to a person."

I sipped what I expected to be an absurdly untainted drink and scrunched my face up tightly in shock, "I guess it's more the balloons and spiked Hawaiian punch."

"You're welcome." Mitchel tipped his hat in my direction.

I shook my head with mock disappointment as I took another drink, "I knew it."

"Have you seen Oliver yet?" He asked slyly. I pretended to be fascinated with the contents of my cup, but couldn't hide the fact that at the mention of his name me eyes had first shot out toward the crowd of hormonal zoo escapees disguised as our classmates.

"I haven't been looking." I lied.

"Sure you haven't." Mitchel chuckled, seeing right through me as always. Then he added, "He looks good in a tux."

I lifted my head to give Mitchel a look of wide-eyed disbelief, "Wow, do you love him too?"

"Shit yea." He scoffed, "Have you ever gazed into those big, chocolate brown, puppy-dog eyes of his? Man if he wasn't so into you we'd be hitting it Brokeback up in here."

I suppressed a gagging laugh in favor of shooting his words back at him, "I can't decided which ridiculous comment to address first."

But Mitchel could not be ruffled, "All true." He stated simply as he took a drink from his own cup.

"The deceased teddy bear comes to mind." I jabbed desperately.

Mitchel glared sideways at me, "He wasn't dead he just hated me."

Before I could come up with a suitable response I spotted his girlfriend from across the room, "I see Winter."

"What?" Mitchel asked, his confusion mixing with his slight buzz.

"Oh sorry, wrong season." I pointed across the gym, "Spring?"

Mitchel squinted and caught sight of her standing near the door, craning her neck to spot him in the dark room.

"You're so stupid." He mumbled.

"So I have been told." I sighed in response.

I heard him sigh as he took in her low backed, silver evening gown and perfectly curled honey-blond hair, "Wow she really looks beautiful, doesn't she?"

I nodded, "That she does." I answered, a little sadly because I was there with a boy who had almost negative love points for me.

Mitchel set his cup aside and wiped his palms against his pants, "I'm getting a little nervous."

I stifled a laugh at the anxiousness in his voice, "Don't be, Mitchel, you're amazing."

"I'm sweating."

"She won't even notice." I assured him.

"She won't?" He asked again as she spotted him and gave a long armed swooping wave.

"Naw, " I shook my head and waved back as she began to shuffle her way passed the sticky bodies in our direction. Then I turned to Mitchel, "Quick put your man face on."

The corners of his mouth twitched upward in an amused smile then he forced his lips into a frown and furrowed his brow, "Man face on."

I slapped him on the butt, "Now go get her, tiger."

Mitchel glared at me, forgetting his man face as Summer grew nearer, "Don't ever say that again." And then she reached us and he took her arm and escorted her toward the dance floor. Presumably to boogie down.

I sighed again, long and tired, and submitted myself to the inevitable drunkenness that I would need to get through this night in one relative piece. Just as I had brought my second cup to my mouth, I felt warm lips on my cheek.

I spun around, choking on my drink, thinking it was Drake ready to go back to his house and have a go at it.

The burn in my throat and my nostrils from the vodka shooting back up was almost more painful than Grand March had been. _Almost_.

But when I had managed to get my sputtering and watering eyes under control, I looked up into the big, chocolate brown, puppy-dog eyes of Oliver Oken, dressed in a pinstriped tuxedo and his always present chuck taylors.

Mitchel was right.

He looked amazing.

He patted my back gently and apologized profusely for being the cause of it all in the first place.

The initial pain and shock subsided, as well as the terror at having to fend off another attack of the Overbearing Drake's, and I smiled at Oliver as he scanned my body carefully.

He didn't say anything about how I looked, but his eyes definitely lingered in places I had only ever dreamed of him studying.

Then he cleared his throat and turned to face the crowd, "So, Lilly, slumming it tonight I see."

I frowned at him, "What are you talking about?"

"Your date." He answered matter-of-factly, "You guys were two couples ahead of us during that stupid fucking parade thing."

I gave a 'tsk' sound and crossed my arms over my chest, "Oh shut up, Oliver, Drake's nice."

He immediately looked at me, obviously suppressing some kind of outburst, "_Drake?_" He repeated the name distastefully.

"Yea." There was a long pause during which Oliver 's eyebrows crawled up his forehead and his own arms rose to cross over his chest. I rolled my eyes, "What?"

"Nothing." He reassured me lamely before adding a hesitant, ". . ._Drake_, really?"

Again the hint of revulsion in his tone was unmistakable, "_What?_" I insisted.

And again, he managed a very lame sounding cover-up, "No, nothing."

"Oliver!" I snapped with a barely audible giggle at his barely _in_audible jealousy.

Oliver relented hastily, "Well, what the fuck kinda name is _Drake_?"

"What's wrong with his name?" I argued even though I was secretly relishing in the attention.

Oliver's eyebrows rose again and he turned away haughtily, "Well it pretty much speaks for itself, doesn't it?"

"You're a stupid fuckwit, you know that?" I shoved him playfully.

He regained his balance effortlessly and face me, "Oh yea? Well you're beautiful."

I was stunned into silence. His words reverberated off the walls in my skull, echoing over and over again and still just not registering. Even though it wasn't the first time that he had said those words to me in total seriousness, I still wasn't quite sure whether or not I had hallucinated them.

Luckily for me, Oliver still had that nifty talent with breaking extended silences.

His eyes traveled over my entirety once more before he said softly, "You look really amazing, Lil."

This time, I managed a quiet, "Thank you."

Oliver smiled and nodded then quickly slapped his breast pocket and gave me a very eager look, "Hey! I got you something."

"Ooo, a present?" I asked excitedly. He began digging around in his pockets mumbling about it being in there somewhere, and I stood silently and watched as if I was calm and curious in a not-nearly-exploding-with-anticipation-and-crazed-butterflies kind of way.

Finally he produced a small white box from his coat and handed it to me, "Here." He said conclusively. I eyed him suspiciously for a moment before slipping the top from the box and peering at the small necklace inside.

It was a silver chain with a tiny diamond "L" dangling from it's center.

I actually gasped as I fingered the letter carefully, "Wow, Ollie. . .it's beautiful." I whispered.

"Yea, well," He took the necklace from my hands and wrapped it around my throat, moving behind me to fasten it, "I saw it and I thought of you so. . ." It took a couple of minutes, but finally he finished, letting his cool fingers trail their way softly and apprehensively half way down my bare back, sending delightful shivers up my spine and all through my body.

When he pulled away I turned around, tugged him into a tight embrace and whispered softly in his ear, "I love it, Oliver, thank you."

He found a way to tighten his arms around my middle and murmured a barely audible "You're welcome" against my shoulder, his lips leaving the tiniest bit of wetness on my bare skin. I closed my eyes and savored the moment, knowing somehow that this was it, our turning point, at long last.

Then Elliott Yamin's "Wait For You" came on and Oliver backed away just enough to see my face as he grinned; admitting his guilt in requesting the song because he knew, without me ever even saying it, that it was my favorite song.

"You wanna dance?" He asked me. I thought my face might rip in half I smiled so wide, and nodded a fervent 'God yes'.

Oliver led me out to the middle of the dance floor under a purple light and tugged my arms up around his neck. I smiled up at him as his hands found their place on my hips, and everything about it just felt so natural and so right, that I almost thought I was dreaming.

We moved in slow, lazy circles, completely silent for half of the song; Oliver gradually pulling me closer until our entire bodies were touching and his arms were wrapped around me in a full-on hug. And still, he would press against my back in an almost earnest attempt to keep me that close.

I laid my forehead against his shoulder, my face to his chest and inhaled his scent of cologne, and I felt his mouth against my hair as he pressed the softest of kisses to the crown of my head.

I sighed against his jacket and said, just loud enough for him to hear, "I love this song."

Oliver ran a hand up my back, tracing the tiny bumps of my spine with his fingertips, "It's always reminded me of you."

I lifted my head and gave him a disbelieving look, "Liar."

He shook his head, "No really." And then he dipped his head down to put his mouth against my ear, and began to sing along with Elliott "Baby I will wait for you,If you think I'm fine it just aint true,I really need you in my life,No matter what i have to do..." Here he pressed another soft kiss to my earlobe, "I'll wait for you."

I listened intently with my eyes shut tightly, shivering as his hot breath left my ear and ghosted passed my cheek and onto my face. I opened my eyes and Oliver was staring down at me, the strangest look in his eyes.

But I had seen it before, every time we came so close but never quite reached that real turning point. The place where friendship was breeched by something else. Something just a little more intense. And we were finally going to do it.

Oliver's mouth opened and closed, like he was unsure if anything needed to be said before it happened.

I didn't let him decide. I pulled his head down to meet mine, locking our mouths together in the long awaited kiss of a lifetime. Our lips melded with each other perfectly, as if they were simply meant to fit like this. They danced carefully for a few minutes, testing the water, Oliver pushed further forward, deepening it, and holding me so close I felt like we might just dissolve into each other.

The kiss ended just before the song did. Oliver swallowed loudly and stared down at me as the music disappeared around us. There was a single beat before he opened his mouth and stammered, "Lilly, I--"

He wasn't given a chance to finish because the brief second of silence between that song and the next was just enough for a loud screech of shock, disgust and hatred to resonate out into the echoing gymnasium.

Oliver and I jerked apart almost violently and faced, with horrible devastation, the seething, beat-red form of Katie Carlo.

"You son of a bitch!" She screamed at Oliver. He didn't even try to say anything as she stared him down, so angry she was almost visibly steaming.

Then she turned to me, "And you." She growled, her high pitched voice so wretched it could be heard even above the song now blasting in an attempt to cover up our little drama, "You are a fucking little whore!"

I opened my mouth to slam her down but Oliver stopped me.

"Don't, " He said menacingly at Katue, "Ever call her that."

My knight in shining high tops!

Katie's face scrunched up even further, "Oh so now you want this little--"

"Outside." Oliver cut her off. She huffed, looking ready to fight him and make an even bigger scene, but the look on his face must have been enough to convince her to shut up. Then he grabbed Katie roughly by the arm and pulled her out of the gym.

I sighed and glanced around me at the millions of eyes pretending they weren't staring, acting like they hadn't seen or heard everything. I pressed a hand to my forehead and began shoving my way toward the back, toward the punch bowl.

"What the hell was that all about?" Another, slightly more controlled, but still obviously angry voice said from behind me. I turned around to face Drake.

"What the hell was _what_ all about?" I asked him. He narrowed his eyes at me and seized my upper arm tightly.

"Don't fucking play dumb with me, I saw you kissing that douschebag." He growled down at me. I could smell the vodka and orange juice on his breath.

I jerked my arm away from him and turned toward the tables, "So what, Drake?"

"So what?" He repeated furiously, "So you came here with me, goddamnit, and I don't fucking like being humiliated in front of the entire fucking school by a stupid _slut_, that's what." He spat, spinning me back around to face him.

I glared right back at him, but was cut off as our Principal tapped the microphone and began her schpiel about a fair race and how every candidate was equally special and now we're going to announce this years Homecoming King and Queen. . .

I ignored her and jabbed a finger into Drake's expansive chest, "If you think that you can bully me, you are sorely mistaken."

And the envelope please. . .

Drake glanced up at the stage and then back to me, "Shut up she's announcing it now so just fucking smile and look happy about it."

And drum roll please. . .

I shoved him away from me, "Fuck you, Drake." I spat and turned to storm out of the gym.

Just as I passed through the big double doors, I distinctly heard the Principal call out Oliver's name.

I couldn't help but smile and think _Well, Oliver, my vote wouldn't have mattered after all._


	27. Who To Blame Lilly or Oliver

**OKAY!**

**The "F" word is used quite alot during one scene.**

**Because someone is VERY,VERY,mad.**

**Just a warning.**

I didn't see Oliver or Katie in the hallway, and for a terrifying second I entertained the idea of her smothering him to death with her puffy pink dress and disposing of the body in the janitor's closet. Then I caught a flash of aforementioned puffy pink dress as Katie stormed out of the girl's bathroom and back into the gym.

Her face was as pink and puffy as her dress.

Maybe a few shades darker.

I covered my face and snuck out the front door. It was cold outside. Too cold to be wandering around a parking lot in nothing but a little black dress. I wrapped my arms around myself and scanned the vast, black abyss for Oliver's car and spotted it parked sideways along the outer curb to the highway.

Oh curse my luck.

I huffed some warm breath onto my trembling hands and stepped off the sidewalk. The wind, which was low-key but devastating all the same, forced my dress to tangle around my knees and my hair to whip forward and poke me in the eye. I swore loudly and fought with the fabric as I reached the passenger side of Oliver's car.

After a moment of savage war with my dress I managed to get it under relative control and tapped gently on the window.

"Oliver?" I asked softly against the glass, "Are you in there?"

His head came into view as he leaned sideways and unlocked the door, "Yea."

"Are you okay?"

Oliver gave a half shrug and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His eyes were trained on the horn in front of him, and his entire body was rigid.

"Yea." He answered.

"Oliver?"

"What?"

"You're a really bad liar, Oliver."

He pursed his lips and shot a glance out the windshield. I wrenched open the door and hurled my shaking body inside. To my dismay, it was only _slightly_ less freezing in the car.

"Hi there." I said once I had settled in. Oliver slid a hand along the expanse of the dashboard in front of him. I caught a glimpse of the Dum-Dum wrapper hat taped near the stereo.

"Hey."

I smoothed out the skirt of my dress across my lap and fixed my own eyes on the flickering streetlamp across the highway, "So what happened?"

Oliver let out a long and tired sigh, "She kept screaming at me." He passed a hand through his hair but still didn't look at me, "And I don't mean an advanced form of yelling, I mean real, loud, shrill there's-a-guy-in-a-hockey-mask-with-a-chainsaw-outside-my-window screaming."

I nodded slowly, "So she was pretty hysterical then?"

Oliver laughed sardonically, "No. Whatever that was went far and beyond hysterics."

"I meant hysterical as in funny. You know-ha, ha, ha."

"Neither of us was laughing."

I nudged him playfully, "Come on, I bet you snorted."

"More like shit my pants." He retorted softly. I frowned and leaned my elbow on the window by my head.

"Yea but I bet that has more to do with your intestines than the rage of Katie The Asswhore."

Oliver snorted, "God, Lils, ew, don't say that." He chastised, but there was a hint of humor in his tone.

I leaned back, "Sorry, it's just what I heard."

"Yea, " Oliver sighed again, "I heard that too."

Suddenly a horrifying X-Rated thought found it's way into my G-Rated brain and I nearly imploded with the effort of getting rid of it, "But you. . .didn't--"

Oliver cut me off abruptly, not wanting to hear the smut about to come out of my mouth and also giving me my answer without having to fully know the question, "Can we be serious now? For five seconds?"

I made a lip zipping motion and smiled at him, "Sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

"Which part?" He asked tartly.

I paused, stretching out the suspense, "'But'."

There was a moment of silence and then Oliver cracked a grin and let out a quiet, restrained but truly amused laugh. I, of course, wasted no time in forcing more life saving humor into our sickeningly depressing conversation.

"Oh shit, I made you laugh." I folded my hands in my lap innocently.

Oliver turned completely away from me, but couldn't hide the smirk on his face, "Oh fuck off, Lils."

"No, I'm really sorry." I twisted to touch his arm apologetically, "I know what a devastating thing it is to peek out from under your veil of gloom."

Oliver turned and gave me a glare, "I'm not gloomy."

"So why the long face, Eeyore?" I asked snottily. He shrugged and sighed yet again and refocused across the street.

I watched him silently for a few minutes before clearing my throat animatedly and leaning forward, "So a horse walks into a bar"

Oliver laughed despite himself.

"-And the bartender takes a good look at him, sets a big frothy mug in front of him and says--"

Oliver cut in sullenly, "Why the long face."

"No." I pulled a face at him for interrupting my joke, "He says, 'That'll be a buck fifty'."

"You're so lame." Oliver laughed and shook his head shamefully. I smiled smugly at him, quite obviously proud of my attempt at butchering one of America's favorite hilarities.

I gave a brief head bow, "So did you break up?"

He bit his lip and nodded, "Yea."

"I see."

"But for the record, I dumped her." He sat forward and looked directly at me for the first time. I nodded in acceptance of his fervor in convincing me it was all his decision and waited patiently for some elaboration.

"So what did, _Drake_ say?" He asked, that same distaste for the name and probably the man as well, still insanely evident in his tone.

So much for elaboration.

I sighed and puffed out my cheeks in agitation at merely the memory of my last encounter with my date, "Not much, " I laughed shortly, "He had a few very complimentary new nicknames for me. . .his favorite started with an 'S'. . .but other than that, Drake isn't a man of many words. I mean it's not like we were dating or anything. I can't expect him to get too irrationally upset."

There was another slightly awkward pause before Oliver shook his head, "If I were him, I'd have killed me."

"Yea right." I laughed.

Oliver face me again, "Seriously, If I had a chance like that and some dude got in the way. . ." He paused, ". . .god it. . .scares me just thinking about how fucking furious I'd be."

I stared at him, contemplating his sincerity. It was possible that he meant it. I mean, after all, we did have a moment in the dance. Not to mention the various other close-calls over the past few weeks. But I was still skeptical. He had never been this vehement before.

"You know, you don't have to say things like that just to make me feel better." I said softly, turning back to my lap.

"I mean it, Lil." Oliver insisted. He held my eyes for a long time before turning away shyly, "I didn't like it when you kissed him. At school. It bothered me. . .bothered me a lot." He laughed softly, "And honestly I just kept wishing that I didn't know why."

I felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head and my heart was going to explode within my chest. Oliver's mouth opened and closed twice. Then he looked at me again and whispered, "I was jealous."

I closed my eyes and sucked in a quick, sharp breath, "Oliver--"

He cut me off, "I fucking swear to you. I'm not just saying it."

There was a long pensive silence before my alter-ego 'Super Insane Idiot Lilly' fought her way out and smiled at Oliver, "Yea well, you also once swore to me that Fraggles were real."

Oliver looked directly at me, his face a stone of seriousness, "I really, truly believe they exist."

"Like the Easter Bunny?" I teased stupidly. Being unable, for some reason, to handle his intensity Oliver seemed to be on a roll though, because he leaned forward slightly, his eyes trying desperately to hold my own.

"This has nothing to do with the Easter Bunny."

I blinked slowly and licked my lips, getting obviously anxious at his proximity. But my inner comedian wasn't quite ready to throw in the towel.

I gave Oliver a mock frown, "I'm so going to tell him you said that. It'll break his little heart."

Oliver laughed softly and scratched agitatedly at his head, "Lilly--"

"You are pure evil."

"What would I do without you?" He sighed. And finally I shut up and met his eyes.

The streetlights outside illuminated the side of his face and made the specks of a lighter shade of dark brown in his hair sparkle.

I shrugged, "Buy a hamster?"

Oliver let out another laugh almost automatically and turned away from me, letting his hands slap down on the steering wheel dismally, "I'd have lost it years ago."

I gave myself a mental slap across the face and leaned forward to touch his arm comfortingly, "No you wouldn't have."

He let out a rush of air, "Yes I would--"

"No, Oliver, " I insisted, scooting closer to him and wrapping my arm haphazardly around his shoulders, "No, you're so strong. You have so much going for you." I paused to examine his profile. His forehead was against the steering wheel and he had shut his eyes but I could tell by the crinkle at the corner of his mouth that he was listening, "Oliver, you're amazing and you don't even realize it." I began to rub soft circles on his back, "You stand out and impress without ever even trying."

Oliver shook his head.

I rested my chin against his shoulder and let my lips ghost over his ear gently before whispering, "There isn't a single person in this town who doesn't know who you are." I paused to suck in a deep breath, "You have this pull. This incredible uniqueness about you that. . .you glow, Oliver. And everyone can see it radiate."

Carefully, Oliver sat up and faced me. His deep brown eyes were glistening with some kind of surrender. Everything that had piled up on him was finally taking too much of a toll for him to put on his smile anymore. I sat back and stared at him, my mouth open in a silent sob as he blinked slowly and small pearl-like tear drops slid down his cheeks.

"Then why did he leave me?" Oliver croaked out. I bit down on my tongue to keep from crying out at the heartbroken look on my best friend's face as I reached forward to brush the tears from his cheeks and chin.

I wiped them away and ran my fingers through his hair tenderly, "I don't know." I answered truthfully. As much as I wanted to give him a reason, a good solid reason, I couldn't. There wasn't one. So I did the best I could, "But no one should ever hurt you." I whispered, kissing his cheek, "Someone like you shouldn't ever have to feel pain."

Oliver pressed his face against my neck, his hands still clutching the steering wheel with so much force I wondered if they'd leave an imprint, and simply breathed. For the longest time the only sound was his ragged breathing against my skin, and the sensation was almost more than I could handle.

But it was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Oliver backed away just enough to get his face in front of mine and whispered, "Pain lets us know we're alive."

I frowned at him and shook my head, leaning back a little, "Maybe, but there are other things that tell us we're alive."

"Like what?" Oliver asked me.

"Love." I answered softly. Up until that point in my life, I had never been completely sure, but the minute Oliver asked, I knew that was the answer.

Oliver held my eyes for a split second before sitting back in his seat, "Sure."

I sighed and angled myself so I could still see him, "Oliver you're so special! There's so much love in your life, you have no idea. Everyone--"

He cut me off with an exasperated heave of breath and an incredibly disbelieving tone that made my stomach plummet, "Oh come on, Lilly! None of those people care!" He hissed, "Not one single _fucking_ person in that gym came out here. They _all_ saw and heard her screaming."

"I came. . ." I whispered, feeling overwhelmingly conquered by his hopelessness. It had started to rain, the drops left deformed and intricate shadows across my lap.

Oliver shook his head disdainfully, "They don't really care."

I looked up at the sound of defeat in his voice and gave one last try, "You're wrong, Oliver."

There was a long silence then. We both just sat and stewed in our unhappiness at the way the world had seemingly turned on us. I looked up periodically to try and catch Oliver's eye, but he wouldn't look away from those flickering lights across the highway. Just as I began contemplating getting out of the car, he spoke.

"You care though." He said softly. I looked up from my lap and met his eyes for the first time in nearly fifteen minutes. He offered a tentative smile and dropped his gaze to the seat between us, "About my dad, about me. . .you always stick by me. Even when I'm being a total fucking jerk." He laughed softly, submissively, "You're my best friend. No matter what."

I returned the smile genuinely and reached for his hand. He flipped his palm up and entwined our fingers together, never taking his eyes off of them.

"You're the amazing one, Lils."

Then he turned and kissed me. For the second time that night. And this time, no one would interrupt us.

We kept our hands tightly clasped as our lips melded together, sweetly and shyly at first but quickly the kiss became more heated, more urgent. Oliver's free hand slid up and down my side and around my back while my own tangled in his soft hair.

It was everything I had ever wanted and more. In that moment we belonged completely to each other. And I thought life had finally started to go my way.

Oliver twisted in his seat to face me completely, forcing me to bend backwards. His arms came around me and the one that was attached to the hand that still clutched mine so tightly pressed down onto the seat behind me to support his weight as he guided our bodies down in the front seat.

And still my head was reeling from the monumentality of the moment. So much so that I didn't think anything of his fervor until his hand found its way under the fabric of my dress to cup my breast.

My eyes snapped open and I reached up to force his hand away, but for some reason, Oliver took it to mean something else, and that same hand began to travel down my side to my thigh where his long fingers slowly gathered up the folds of my skirt.

"Oliver. . ." I reached down and pushed it away. He mumbled something against my neck as his hand fought with mine to get back under my skirt.

I gripped it tightly and pushed with all my strength. I always knew Oliver was strong, but I had never had to actually try and parallel it before. He let go of my hand and slid that one between us to fumble with my skirt, as well as his belt, as the one I currently wrestled with forced my arm up above my head.

"Oliver, come on." I begged softly as his hand slid up my thigh. He wasn't listening. And when I heard the distinct sound of his fly coming undone, I panicked, "Oliver!" I shouted and wedged my knee between his legs, lifting up and coming into quick and probably painful contact with his groin.

He jolted away from me with a yelp and a restrained curse.

Yep, painful.

I sat up slowly, watching him writhe in his seat and swear under his breath, his eyes pinched shut and his teeth clenched.

After I had re-situated my dress to cover all the improper places, I took a deep breath, "Oliver, I'm so--"

He cut me off abruptly by punching the steering wheel savagely, "What in the _fuck_ do you want from me Lil? Huh?!" He glared at me, the incomprehensible anger so evident on his face that it frightened me. Then he shook his head and whipped around to hit the wheel again, "Goddamnit! You fucking made it seem like you wanted this. You acted like. . .fuck, Lilly I'm not a fucking mind-reader! Do you want me or not?"

I stared, open mouthed, at him, "Oliver, calm down."

"No!" He shouted, half pleading, half demanding, "I can't now! Lil, you got me all riled up and now you're knocking me down. I can't take anymore of this shit! This. . .fucking rejection! My dad did it. . .fuck!" Oliver punched the steering wheel yet again, "And now you.Lillian you're fucking kill me!"

I felt guilty, because I never thought he would take this as rejection. I wasn't rejecting him, he was moving too fast and it scared me. I tried to tell him, "I'm no--"

"Oh shut the fuck up! Don't fucking say anything. Fucking cock tease." Oliver said furiously.

I was stunned into silence for a very long time. How could he say that to me? Didn't he know? Didn't he know that it was never about that with him? Didn't he understand how I felt? After everything, how couldn't he know?

I found my voice, but even as I spoke it was cramped and cowardly, "What?"

"You heard me."

I didn't say anything. His words stung me. I stared disbelievingly at him for a moment before turning slowly and reaching for the door handle. I had one leg out of the door when Oliver grabbed my arm.

"Lils! Lill--" He shouted as I tried to yank my arm away from him.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I shouted back at him and twisted my body for more leverage. His grip tightened on my arm and his other hand reached for my side as I slid out of the car. I yanked at my arm again as I stood up, "Let me go!" I said as firmly as possible without yelling. Oliver looked at me defiantly, and gave one last pull on my body. I leaned backward, pulling against him, and managed a quick, swift kick to the door, slamming it shut. Oliver let go of my arm, narrowly missing being smashed by the flying metal.

I fell backwards, my rear end slamming against the ground, but I didn't miss a beat. I stood up and turned from the car, the tears erupting before I even took a step.

I started running away from the car, into the pouring rain, glancing back over my shoulder once to see Oliver with his head resting against the steering wheel, his fists clenched and his lips moving in silent curses either for being kicked in the balls, or for hurting me.

I chose to believe it was the latter, so that my god-like image of him would not be completely broken. So much of what I had hoped for was already dashed against the rocks, I couldn't lose everything.

Even though his shaking form made me want to go back to him, to hold him, to forgive him. I couldn't. I was too scared. Whatever happened in that car that triggered his explosion had terrified me, and all I wanted was to get away.

I walked home, trembling and crying, whispering desperate pleas into the cold night air. When my front porch came into view I paused and checked behind me for any sign of being followed. I knew Oliver wouldn't come after me. I don't know how I knew, but I did, and it killed me.

I had long ago taken off my shoes, my ankles were swollen and my feet were so cold they were turning a pretty shade of blue. My dress clung to my body, so soaking wet that if I took it off and wrung it out an entire ocean would spill into my bathtub. I stumbled up the steps and reached for the doorknob, my fingers so numb they could barely manage a weak grasp around the freezing brass. I tried to turn it, but it didn't budge.

It was at that very moment that I lost all control. I beat my frozen fists violently against the locked door and screamed at the top of my lungs. I threw my shoes savagely across the porch and into the yard, tore at the dress as it tangled around my legs, and snapped the chain around my neck in half, letting the "I" fly off to some unknown corner of the porch.

"Fuck you, Oliver!" I screamed as loudly as I could. I threw my body against the door with every ounce of strength I could muster, "Fuck you!"

The tears were streaming down my face as I slammed myself against it again. After the third time, I stopped to let out a wretched sob. My body was shaking fiercely, wracked and heaving with the effort of standing up. So I didn't anymore. I let my body slide down the wall until I hit the porch floor with a thud. I covered my face with my hands and curled into a ball, "Fuck you." I whispered, exhausted by my complete release of control. I waited there, on my porch in the rain, freezing and tired and angry and broken, for almost an hour before my parents returned. I guess I gave them quite a scare. They got me inside and called a doctor. I'm told he came and did a thorough examination of my physical and mental status, but I'm also told I was barely coherent at that point. Which must be true because I can't remember any of it.

The diagnosis was:

I was sore and bruised from hurling my body at the house. And swollen from walking home in heels. And I caught a cold.

I caught a cold. That was all.

The doctor and my parents said absolutely nothing of my mental state. Maybe they couldn't tell, maybe they were just afraid of another outburst. It had to be fear, how could they not sense something was horribly wrong? It's not like I had fist-i-cuffs with buildings on a regular basis. But I was okay with them not acknowledging it. I would hate to have to hurt my parents with the truth. Sure, they've been where I am, in a sense. They aren't stupid, they know that this kind of thing happens.

But sometimes, it's still best to leave people in the dark.


	28. Sidewalk Cracks

The night after the dance-induced incident, Alexis called to see why I had abandoned the aforementioned event. What happened? Where did I go? Who was I with?

My response was a gush of tears, sputtered excuses, and a well placed hiccup.

She rushed over, armed with Kleenex, Jackass The Movie, and a box of Twinkies.

"I don't get it, Lex." I muttered pitifully into a tissue following the "Whole Story". Alexis rubbed my back sympathetically and handed me a Twinkie. I held it in my hand for a long time, just staring at it, remembering lamely the last Twinkie I had tasted.

I swallowed the tears loudly and pressed my fingers into the pastry through the cellophane wrapper, "I just don't. . .fucking get it." I tossed the treat aside and shook my head, "What happened?"

Despite the obvious rhetorical theme of my question, Alexis felt obligated to give me an answer, "He's an asshole."

"What?" I looked up at her, a mixture of anger and love bubbling up inside of me. I felt the urge to defend him, but did he deserve defense?

She shook her head and muttered a curse at the box of Twinkies as she pushed it to the floor, "He should just fucking rot in hell for what he did to you." She growled.

There was no confusion about her current feelings for Oliver.

I sighed loudly and reached for my discarded, mutilated Twinkie, "It's. . ." I opened the wrapper and picked a piece off, ". . .not his fault."

Alexis turned to me sharply, so sharply that I flinched and missed my mouth with the cream covered cake, smearing white across my jaw.

As I wiped my face with the sleeve of my sweater, Alexis blinked her eyes rapidly, giving me the most incredulous look I had ever seen.

"How can you say that?" She hissed, complete shock and utter disgust dripping off her tongue.

"I don't know." I shrugged sadly and licked frosting from my knuckle.

"What he did was fucked up, Lils."

"I know but. . ."

"But what?" She pressed angrily, clinging to my arm as if any more distance between us would suck me away from her into some black hole, never to be seen again.

And with all this trauma in my life. Go figure.

"Lilly." Alexis shifted herself in front of me, her voice calmed down, much like one would speak to an injured animal, "Lil. . .but _what_?"

I turned my face away from her, fumbling with the snack in my lap as I whispered, "He was under a lot of stress."

Alexis's jaw dropped to the mattress as she sat back and stared disbelievingly at me, "Under a lot of _stress_?" She spat, "That is _no_ excuse."

"But you don't understand." I squeaked out as the sting of tears crept up the back of my throat.

"Understand?" Alexis shouted, leaping from the bed and standing in front of me, arms wide open as if she were trying to show me the error of my ways, "He's a creep, Lils, he tried to _force_ himself on you! You trusted him, and he totally flipped on you!" She stared down at me as I wiped my dripping nose on my sleeve and stifled tears with every ounce of strength I had left in me. I stared down at the Twinkie in my hands, distressed and almost ashamed. Alexis sighed exasperatedly and lifted a hand to her forehead, "What don't I understand?" She asked quietly.

I looked up at her, imploring her not to ask. Not to make me talk anymore. Not to blame him, even if blame had to fall somewhere, I couldn't let it all lay on Oliver.

Alexis sat down next to me carefully, "Lilly?"

I met her eyes and instantaneously they began to well with tears at seeing the immense heartbreak in my own. She wrapped me in a tight embrace, tight enough to bruise, but I fell right into it; clinging to my friend as if she could absorb the pain away. Just take it all away.

I lifted my face from it's place buried in Alexis's shoulder, "I can't tell you." I whispered into her hair, wrapping my arms tighter when she tried to sit back and protest, "But I need you to understand that he didn't just flip on me."

Alexis broke free from the hug somehow and sat back to meet my eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, but she didn't speak.

I wiped at my own cheeks then gripped her shoulders, "Believe me, I'm not excusing what he did at all, because he. . .you're right. There isn't one." I sucked my lip into my mouth to bite back more tears, "But I can't hate him---" my words were interrupted by a gasping sob that I tried to stifle by slapping a hand over my mouth, but after a minute I couldn't hold it in any longer. I let out a few small hiccupping gasps and squeezed my eyes shut. With the tiniest shrug I could muster, I finished, "He's Oliver."

I stayed home from school for the rest of the week. During those four days, Alexis called twice, Mitchel called three times and stopped by twice; during none of which did the topic of fleeing the dance in the rain without my jacket even come up in the slightest. But Oliver, well Oliver was completely M.I.A.

Not from the world in its entirety, but from my small, unhappy, disillusioned corner of it at least.

I expected no less. No more either for that matter.

Despite how past encounters with the darker side of Oliver Oken had proven his loyalty and friendship to me over the years through numerous and sometimes flamboyant apologies in the aftermath, I knew deep down, and swimming on the surface, that this particular entanglement was very, very different.

So I stayed in bed those four days. Buried deep in my blankets and even deeper in my self pity. No matter how many times I replayed the evening in my head I couldnt put together a valid reason for what had happened. I couldnt understand or even fathom the incentive behind any of it.

I tried to stop thinking about it, tried to stop thinking in general. Tried to recount thousands of long lost Billy Idol lyrics in my head, switching songs every time a phrase or word or syllable reminded me of Oliver.

Everything reminded me of Oliver. There wasnt a thing in my room, or world for that matter, that he hadnt touched or affected somehow. There wasnt a single thing I knew that we hadnt learned together. Not one idea that he hadnt helped to create.

Including the bottomless pit of helplessness and fear that I now found myself engulfed in.

Come noon on Saturday, I was curled in a ball on the floor trying to decide whether the dust bunny under my bed looked more like David Caruso _with_ his sunglasses or without, when there came a sharp knock on my door.

I didn't say anything as the door creaked open unbeckoned. I listened to the vibrations in the floorboards as whoever it was entered the room and stopped short upon seeing me strewn across the rug.

"Hi." They said.

I rolled over and peered up at the intruder. Mitchel hovered above me, his blonde hair sticking out from under an unfamiliar trucker hat, and his all-too familiar, hole ridden sneakers just inches from my face.

I sighed and returned my focus to the crime scene investigating accumulation of dirt under the bed, "Hi."

I felt Mitchel's leg brush against my hip as he seated himself clumsily on the bed, shadowing the object of my intensive observation. So I closed my eyes and waited for him to speak.

Finally, with an unpleasantly loud squeak from the springs beneath him, he did, "I brought you something." He taunted softly.

In spite of my melancholy, the true-blue girl in me couldn't deny the perk of curiosity and anticipation caused by the mere notion of a surprise present.

Without moving a single muscle besides the necessary, I responded vacantly, "What?"

"Get off the floor and I'll show you." Mitchel chuckled.

I managed to shoot him a very awkward and slightly painful look, "forget it."

He groaned, "Come on, Lil."

"It can't be all that good anyway." I mumbled dejectedly.

"Lilly, you have to fucking get out of here. You can't fester like this."

Despite the humor in his choice of words, I choked back a sob and busied my fingers picking at the edges of varnish on my floorboards. Mitchel let me continue to _fester_ for a moment longer before sighing again and shifting onto the floor near my head.

"Please?"

I forced myself to turn my head and meet his eyes but turned away almost immediately, "I don't want to, Mitchel."

"Why not?"

I rolled onto my back and let out a feeble cough from the inhalation of various members of the CSI Junk Pile team all day, "It's dangerous out there."

"Dangerous how?" Mitchel scoffed gently, knowing very well what I meant but wanting me to say it all the same.

Instead of spewing my guts all over his knee, I covered my face with my arm and mumbled, "Sidewalk cracks."

"Sidewalk cracks." Mitchel repeated mockingly. I uncovered my face to stare up at him.

"Sidewalk cracks."

Mitchel shook his head slowly, "You're a real piece of work, Lil, you know that?"

"Yea." I sighed, "A fucking finger painting. And all the colors run outside the lines."

Mitchel reached forward and gently pushed my dirty hair behind my ear, "No." He whispered, "A Picasso. No one quite gets it, but they all know you're beautiful."

Immediately tears began rolling down my cheeks. I focused my eyes on the small dark marks as they appeared on the wood beneath me, and as they grew in size and quantity, I rubbed them into the floor with my index finger, ". . .why not you?" I asked miserably.

Mitchel leaned down and kissed my temple, "Because I'm not Oliver."

I shut my eyes tightly and fought against more tears. Sucking in a deep Pinesol flavored breath I managed an ultimately sad and detached, "Yea."

We sat in silence for only a moment before Mitchel nudged my shoulder, "Come on, I'll buy you a muffin."

I shook my head, "I can't."

"Lilly---"

"Mitchel, I _can't_!" I said forcefully as I heaved myself into a sitting position, "If I go out there I run the risk of seeing him. I---" I paused to choke back a sob, "I _can't_ see him." I finished softly. Mitchel stared directly into my eyes until I looked away. Then he scooted backwards to lean against my bedside table and gave his hat a thoughtful flick to the brim.

"I don't know if it helps. . ." He said quietly, his eyes fixed on his hands as they toyed with a tear in his jeans, ". . .but he's a wreck."

My own eyes shifted to the closet where I had stashed all of my Oliver paraphernalia, and then back to my unpainted toenails as I let out a small, sadistic laugh, "I'm glad." I admitted, and then something inside of me gave a sharp twange and the sick little smile melted from my face, "I hate that I'm glad."

Mitchel looked up but didn't say a word.

I shook my head slowly and bit down on my tongue to avoid another salty outburst, but I couldn't stop them as I voiced my next emotion, "I hate that he did this to me. I hate that for some fucked up reason, _**I**_ feel guilty about it." I paused to take in a long, quivering breath, "I hate blaming him. I hate that everything came so close, and turned out like this. . .most of all I hate that." I laughed. A small, self-pitying laugh through small, self-pitying tears, "Everything's changed. I've lost him completely, my best fucking friend."

"You didn't lose anything." Mitchel insisted gently, not even giving my speech time to reverberate off the walls, "He hasn't gone anywhere."

"Hasn't he?" I asked scornfully, "I couldn't just. . ._be happy_ with our friendship."

Mitchel laughed, "Neither could he."

I closed my eyes tightly to pinch back the tears as well as deny the memories of the past month or so to surface. They came anyway. Quick flashes of heartbreaking moments, unbelievable bonding, shy hand-holding, and passionate but tender kisses. I forced them out of focus, but the black and white fuzzy pictures still clung to the backs of my eyelids even as Mitchel sighed compassionately and continued speaking.

"Look, Lil. . ." He waited for me to open my eyes and meet his before giving a small shrug, "It's just another snag. Oliver fucked up. Again."

I bit my lip and looked down, thinking unhappily of the birthday fiasco. But this was different. This time, he wasn't begging my forgiveness. He wasn't even trying.

Mitchel leaned forward and grabbed my hand, "But you said it yourself, he's your best friend. Isn't that enough to earn him another chance?"

I stared at our hands as Mitchel stared at me, waiting for some kind of response. I wasn't sure I could give him one. At least not a straight one.

"I think I'll take you up on that muffin."

Mitchel broke out into a grin as he stood, pulling me with him, "Fuck the muffin. I have Snack Packs in the car."

I pulled a sweatshirt over my tangled hair and dirty t-shirt, "Vanilla or chocolate?"

"Both." Mitchel answered as we walked through my door. I stopped him at the top of the stairs and turned him around to give him a hug.

"I love you, Mitchel." I whispered into his soft chest.

Mitchel tightened his arms around me for a moment before releasing me and directed me down the stairs, an arm securely around my shoulders, "Love you too, kid. Let's get outta here."


	29. The Trickster & Lilly The Avoider

"Enjoying your coffee?"

I glanced up over the brim of my styrofoam cup at Mitchel. He was studying the contents of his own drink.

"Immensely." I answered, taking a sip and setting the cup on the table between us, "How's your smoothie?"

Mitchel took a drink through his straw and smacked his lips thoughtfully, "Fruity." He said decidedly.

"Is it a luau in your mouth?"

Mitchel shook his head, "Not entirely, which is probably for the best since I'm not a huge fan of coconut."

"Besides, you'd undoubtedly choke on the grass skirts." I stirred my coffee slowly.

"Undoubtedly." Mitchel agreed. We shared a moment of silence that was decidedly _less_ awkward, during which I occupied myself by guessing what various customers would order. I was 0 for three when Mitchel took a deep breath and spoke.

"So let's have a heart to heart." He said casually. I turned away from the middle aged iced mocha at the counter and gave Mitchel the runabout with my eyes, opting to stare directly into the dark, steaming liquid in front of me instead of his intense sea foam eyes.

"I can't." I whispered.

"Why not?" Mitchel prodded.

I shook my head slowly, dipping the tip of my finger into my coffee, ". . .Oliver broke my heart."

Mitchel let out a slow, compassionate sigh through his nose and shifted back in his seat, "You know he didn't mean to. He'd never hurt you on purpose."

I put my finger in my mouth, tasting the bitter coffee and sweet chocolate, nursing the slight burn on the very tip, "He still did." I mumbled through my flesh.

"He's sorry."

I looked up, meeting Mitchel's eyes, "How do you know that for sure?"

He sat back and reached up to adjust his hat, "I just do. I'm the Trickster, I know all."

"You're impotent."

"Omnipotent." Mitchel corrected, "Impotent means erectionally challenged."

I sipped my drink, "I'm aware."

"Are you also aware that you're using humor to avoid reality again?" He asked, his tone sounding too much like a cheesy, cliche therapist for my liking.

I shrugged, "I've been known to do that. Lilly the Avoider!"

"Do you fight crime?" Mitchel asked, resting his chin in his hand.

"I would, " I said, turning my cup around in my hands, "But I try to avoid confrontation."

"Go figure."

"Go team."

Next ensued another long, heavy silence. I knew Mitchel was waiting for me to speak first. And I knew what he wanted me to say. I _wanted_ to say it. I felt like I needed to say it, to get it out of me.

"I miss him." I admitted finally, quietly.

Mitchel sat up straight, his eyes fixed securely to my face.

"But. . ." I sighed, ". . .I don't want to see him. It hurts, Mitchel."

He reached across the table and covered my hand with his, "I know, Lil."

I sniffed, confused by the lack of tears spewing out of me at merely the mention of Oliver, "I don't like it."

Mitchel sighed loudly and gave my hand a quick squeeze before releasing it and leaning back in his chair, "You're not the only one."

I closed my eyes tiredly. I hadn't even thought about what this whole thing would do to our group. My friends, _our_ friends, who we had spent at least the past six years with, some of them much more, what would happen to them? I didn't want them to have to choose between us. It wasn't fair that they should be so affected by what Oliver and I had done.

When I opened my eyes Mitchel was smiling at me gently. He wasn't ecstatic, but he was okay, and he wanted me to know that.

I sighed for the millionth time that afternoon and sank back deep into my chair, "I wish I still had some pudding."

Mitchel laughed, "You would if you hadn't inhaled it like a Hoover."

"Inhale this." I stuck up my middle finger, receiving even more laughs from Mitchel. "You really shouldn't compare me to things that suck, " I told him severely, "I'm fragile. It's bad for my self esteem."

Mitchel shook his head, "Drink your coffee."

"I wanna put some pudding in it." I rebutted dejectedly.

"That's disgusting."

"No, what's disgusting is that I haven't bathed in five days."

Mitchel's nose crinkled, "Touche."

A lengthy pause in the conversation left us both sipping absentmindedly at our beverages and enjoying the aforementioned companionable silence.

"Have I ever broken your heart?" Mitchel asked suddenly, his eyes cast down into his smoothie as he stirred it slowly with his straw.

I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled at him, "No."

He looked up, "Have I even bruised it?"

I took a deep, contemplative breath and sat forward, bringing our noses a mere two inches apart, ". . .you're more like a jab in the kidneys."


	30. Nick, My Friend

Nick and I had been friends since he first moved in during the fourth grade. But we had never really hung out just the two of us. So when he showed up on my doorstep alone, I was slightly more than confused.

"Hey, Lilly. How's it going?" Nick asked, hands shoved deep into his sweatshirt pockets and a rather nervous look on his face.

I leaned against the open doorway and crossed my arms over my chest. Looking down at him expectantly, I answered, "Oh you know. It's definitely been better."

He sighed and shuffled his feet on the step, "Yea."

I watched him squirm for a moment, waiting for him to explain his solo appearance without having to ask him outright what the hell he was doing there.

After the awkward silence had surpassed the two minute mark, I cleared my throat and shifted against the door frame.

"So what's up, Nick?"

He looked up at me from his previous engagement with his untied shoelaces and reached up to scratch apprehensively at the back of his head, "Well, I mean, I was just thinking . . . we never really spend any time together. Just you and me, ya know?" He paused and I squinted my eyes at him thoughtfully. He coughed once into his fist and continued, "And you were talking about that show over in Chicago . . . I thought maybe we could check it out."

I studied him boldly, he averted his eyes for a while, tugging at his slightly curly brown hair and shuffling his sneakers around in the few leaves that scattered my front porch. He seemed unsure of his invitation, but at the same time, I could tell that he was sincere.

He knew. Maybe not everything. But he knew enough to feel obligated to try and make up for Oliver.

Finally I uncrossed my arms and stepped down onto the porch, bringing myself to his level, "Just you and me?"

"Yea."

I waited again, expecting him to say something else. To apologize for the incident of which he had no fault. It was obvious to him by my hesitation that I knew he knew something. And as much as I liked Nick, I couldn't help but feel like I was the guest of honor at the pity party of the year.

I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked suspiciously at the fish shaped mailbox across the street, "You're not just asking because you feel sorry for me, are you?"

Nick's head shot up and he shook his head fervently, "No, Lilly, it's not like that." He sighed and met my eyes straight on, "I sympathize. But it's not like that."

I didn't need to study him anymore. By his response, he had given away that he did, in fact know at least the standard high school speech outline of what had happened at the dance. And his eagerness involved in convincing me that he was trying to help but not trying to pity, proved that exact thing.

I gave him a grateful and friendly smile, ". . .good. . .alright, just let me get my coat."

We had been driving for about twenty minutes before there was a substantial break in the steady flow of variety style music blaring from the radio with the sole purpose of keeping awkward conversation at bay. I took this opportunity, and in so doing a resolve shaking risk, to ask Nocl the question that had been plaguing me since the doorbell rang that morning.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He appeared to be ultra-concentrated on the highway ahead of us, his hands clenched firmly around the steering wheel. I waited for him to merge into the other lane before tapping my fingernails subtly on the dashboard and speaking.

"So. . .how much do you know?" I asked softly.

Nick kept his eyes on the road as he responded, "About what?"

Normally, I would praise his profound driving skills, but I was blatantly aware that it was a farce because he was uncomfortable with the dialogue beleaguered turn the silence had taken.

I groaned involuntarily, "You know what."

Nick still didn't answer.

"Come on, Nick"

He stayed quiet for a few more minutes. Buying some time by pretending, once again, to be consumed by the prospect of our indefinite safety. But before I could press on him my insistence once again, he let out a long sigh and answered.

"Alright. . .well, not much." He paused to glide sideways onto the exit ramp, "Like, Oliver only told me that he fucked up pretty damn royally and that, ya know, he didn't blame you if you never spoke to him again."

I turned my head to look at him, "You mean he never told you what happened?"

Nick shook his head, "No. And you don't have to now." He shot me a glance, "Unless you wanna. . .unload or something."

I sat back slowly in my seat, taking in carefully the fact that Oliver hadn't exposed either of us for the stupid cowards we were. I reached up and rubbed my forehead, sliding down further into the seat.

"Because I'm here, Lil."

I looked back up at Nick. My friend. Who wanted nothing more than to alleviate some of the strain of feelings more intense than plutonic for a person I didn't know how to forgive.

I smiled at him and reached for the stereo. I pressed the button to switch the station, settling on a scratchy sounding live and unplugged version of Black Sabbath's _Crazy Train._

As the instrumental started and a thirty-something year ago audience began to scream, I reached sideways and patted Nick's arm, "Thanks, Nick. I really appreciate that."

The show was fantastic. Or as fantastic as it could be, given my sullen state of being. A rambunctious assortment of local punk bands, some much less in tune than the others, had done their best to entertain and distract me. And I, in turn, had done my best to accommodate their attempts by nodding my head approvingly and smiling back shyly when the singer of one band crouched down on the stage to caress my cheek and wink in a way that told me he was bigger and more fancied than I had originally anticipated.

And Nick, with his unwavering determination, kept my hand occupied by a constant supply of ill-gotten, unreasonably priced beer. I drank it greedily, taking full advantage of the fake I.D. his cousin had given him for his eighteenth birthday, as well as the unadulterated attention of aforementioned throaty-voiced singer as he spasmed around the stage, crooning and screaming into his microphone.

Halfway through the fourth band's set, Nick disappeared to the back to use the payphone. I was left, crammed into a corner against the sharp edge of the stage, the remaining three swallows of my fifth beer clutched loosely in my hand. I stared up at the band, taking in their morose lack-of-love song through fuzzy hearing and even fuzzier vision when a hand came down on my bare shoulder and a husky voice whispered directly into my ear.

"You look really hot in the mosh-pit. But I bet you'd look even hotter backstage."

I turned around slowly, a difficult task amongst the sticky mass of bodies surrounding me. The throaty singer from that first band stood behind me, practically up against me, his dark hair matted with sweat and his shockingly light blue eyes twinkling with post-show orgasmia.

I let out an amused laugh, "I look hot because I'm sweating like a fucking pig in here."

His already mischievous, cheeky smile twisted upward, revealing absurdly white teeth for someone who was supposed to be such an extreme level of hardcore.

"Let's get some air then." And he slipped his arm around my waist, tugging me toward the back of the crowd. I followed, unsure whether or not this situation was something one would take as a sign to palm their pocket stun gun or rape whistle. Being as buzzed as I was, it didn't matter in the least. He was gorgeous. And I figured I could use a certain amount of testosterone in my life that didn't emit from an overly-concerned male friend.

When we finally reached the door, the singer shoved it open, immediately relieving me of my heatstroke with a gust of autumn air. The street was virtually deserted, except for a few fellow victims of the heat wave inside, or members of Smoker's Anonymous who paid for the show but spent the majority of it just outside the door, puffing away and chatting about who had the more severe, emo look; Davey Havoc, or Will Francis.

I leaned carefully against the wall of the club, letting the freezing brick lower the temperature of my skin and drain some of the alcohol induced redness from my face.

"What's your name, baby?"

I tried to focus my eyes on the man before me. He placed one hand casually on my hip, using the other as support against the wall behind my head.

"Lillian." I giggled, "But my friends call me Lilly."

"Lilly." He mused, leaning just a little bit closer to my face. Not close enough to look suspicious, but close enough to let me know he was interested, "It's cute. My name's Derek."

I nodded as I sipped at the beer still held in my hand, "Cool. Just Derek"

"Just Derek."

Again, I nodded and let out a drunken giggle. The giggle only got louder when I noticed the tickle of fingers crawling up my thigh, inching their way under the hem of my skirt.

"Ya know what, Lilly?" Derek whispered, having leant even closer some time during the straying of his hand.

"What, Derek?" I asked, slurring slightly. He only smiled more at my apparent lacking of objection as his hand found it's way onto the curve of my butt.

He bent his head to press a kiss to the bend between my neck and shoulder, making me let out a squeal of surprise when his hand closed tightly around the soft flesh of my right buttock.

"You have a really great ass." He hissed into my ear.

I fought the urge to relax against the wall and let him continue his rapid exploration of the contents of my skirt, and pushed at his chest. He stepped back a centimeter as I adjusted my skirt, but tried to close the gap again by aiming his mouth at my own.

"Derek" I objected, reaching up to block his mouth with my hand. He grabbed that hand and re-directed it toward his crotch.

"Don't play." He laughed, "I saw the way you smiled at me during the show."

I frowned and struggled to free my hand from his grip, "I was being nice." I argued, "And I've been drinking."

"So?" Derek pressed, using his other hand to tug my hips against his, trapping my hand between us.

"_So_," I said, raising my voice, "Back off."

Finally Derek stopped pretending I was into this and shoved me back against the wall roughly, the bottle in my hand slipping and nearly crashing to the ground. I managed to catch it by the very end of the neck and brought it up in a lame attempt to bash him on the head with it.

Unfortunately, and probably because I was slowed by intoxication and he wasn't, Derek caught my wrist before the bottle could be brought down on his crown, the last bits of liquid spilling out onto his sleek, black hair.

As I would later recollect, he seemed more upset about this than the essential cock-blockage.

So he slammed me, once again, against the wall and forced his hand under the front of my skirt. I had a quick, fleeting, angry feeling concerning the uncaring nature of the other stragglers on the sidewalk in front of the building.

Then I heard my name being shouted from somewhere further away than I had expected.

"Nck!" I screamed back before Derek got his hand clamped down over my mouth.

I bit into the rough, calloused flesh and was rewarded with a painful backhanded slap to the face. Despite the alcohol swimming through my veins, a horrifying surge of panic ripped its way through me into the pit of my stomach, and I had a vague, blurry vision of my own funeral. All of my friends dressed somberly in black; Mitchel with his hair tucked under the only remotely dark colored trucker hat I had ever spotted in his room, Alexis sobbing into Nick's shoulder, and Oliver. Oliver was the clearest of all. His face blank and his demeanor eerily calm. But the turmoil inside bubbling up, so close to boiling over that at the utterance of my name he tears the entire funeral parlor to pieces, screaming about how I would have wanted it outside anyway.

Then a strange thing happened, I was released, and fell, gasping softly, to the ground. I looked up to see Nick shoving Derek toward the vast opening of an alley I hadn't even comprehended entering. Once Derek was out of sight, leaving behind the echo of some really nasty curse words and the sting on my left cheek, Nick ran a hand agitatedly through his hair and turned around reluctantly to crouch in front of me.

"Jesus Christ, Lil what the hell did you think you were doing coming out here with that guy?"

I shook my head sadly, the severity of the rapidly fleeting situation finally seeping into my tired brain. I felt awful. There are no words to describe what I felt at that exact moment. It was the lowest moment of my life, made impressively lower when I leaned sideways to throw up on the fragments of broken glass from dropping the bottle. Another action I couldn't seem to remember taking.

Nick took me home immediately. The drive felt longer the second time through. And quieter. But the silence was welcome. My head throbbed and my throat ached. My stomach flipped and flopped, bringing a grimace to my face at every non-smooth movement of the vehicle.

More than once Nick made a move to pull over onto the side of the highway.

When we finally reached my house, I hesitated before leaving the warmth and safety of Nick's car. He waited patiently for whatever I happened to be waiting for, his hands resting on the wheel and his eyes trained politely on the neighbor's picket fence.

"Can this stay between us, Nick?" I asked timidly.

He turned to look at me, concern and sympathy written all over his face. I almost threw up again, seeing the first lines pity form at the corners of his mouth and under his searching eyes.

I had nearly given up and resigned myself to the unavoidable hounding and practical baby-sitting I would have to endure from Alexis and Mitchel, when Nick nodded.

"Yea, Lilly. It can be our secret. Besides, I don't need Alexis knowing I sucker-punched some dude in the back of the head. She'd shit Frisbees."

I managed a weak but grateful smile and started to get out of the car. Nick reached over and grabbed my arm. I shifted to face him, exhaustion taking over my body like the worst of flus.

"It'll be okay, Lil." He whispered, "I swear."

And whether it was the last remaining after-effect of the beer, or the foggy surrealism of being attacked in a dark alley, I found myself believing him completely.


	31. Exploits Of A Questionable Nature

I slept well past one p.m. the next day. It was a deep, coma-like sleep, thankfully dream free. It was over twelve hours of nothing but pure, unbreakable blackness. But as soon as I woke up, the bright afternoon light blinding me the second I opened my eyes, a mad head rush of dirty memories nearly knocked me back into oblivion.

I groaned, pressing a hand to my throbbing head, my eyes widening in shock when I distinctly felt the large vein pulsing through the skin of my forehead. I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled my way to the bathroom for a much needed shower.

One glance in the mirror sent me sprawling to the blue tiled floor in fright.

I looked like the Bride of fucking Frankenstein. On crack. After a night of heavy drinking. And quite possibly some sexual exploits of a questionable nature.

And there was the faintest of bruises beginning to take shape where Derek had pimp-slapped me.

When I finished scrubbing the throaty Derek filth from my body I staggered downstairs and into the obscenely sunbathed kitchen where my even more obscenely sunny mother was crumbling bread crust into some spicy smelling concoction that sat boiling on the stove.

"Well, welcome back to the world, Sunshine." She cooed at me.

The sun must've been out to get me that day. It was becoming a rather undesirable running theme.

I grunted at her and reached up to rummage through the cupboard in hopes that I would find something as simple as a poptart to satisfy the cramping, growling hunger I had recently discovered was Nazi-ing my insides.

My mother watched me curiously through her peripheral vision, probably freakishly aware that I was avoiding meeting her imploring brown eyes with my own bag-rimmed, bloodshot ones.

I sat myself down heavily at the table, two slices of plain bread substituting for the nonexistent strawberry poptart I had gotten a nasty sliver from the ripped up shelf searching for.

"So." My mother chirped, trying for Martha Stewart's sake to manage a multi-task of cooking and mother/daughter bonding without bursting a brain vessel.

I nibbled tiredly on my bread and let out a sigh, glancing up to see her stirring her pot of spices, her attention balance seemingly tilted toward making sure nothing boiled over.

"So." I responded, my voice a distant monotone. My mother shot me a sideways glance, as if my lack of enthusiasm for small talk originated from some deep seeded distaste for her personally, as opposed to the hangover I was struggling to pretend I didn't have.

My mother reached up to her homemade spice rack, picking up various bottles and reading their labels before settling on one and sprinkling some over the surface of her creation, the motion reminding me far too much of crop dusting.

She appeared to be losing her train of thought in the mixture, most likely because the smell, which was steadily growing more and more intense with each new addition, was slowly killing off all of her brain cells. However, just when I had resigned myself to the silent brunch I had been hoping for all along, she cleared her throat, "I haven't seen Oliver in a while."

I turned back to the bread in my hands, "Yea."

"He been busy lately?" She asked.

I shrugged, "Sure."

She stopped stirring long enough to study me in a very patient, motherly fashion, "With what?"

I was momentarily stunned by her ability to make her prying sound like casual conversation.

"He's the Homecoming King." I mumbled dejectedly through a mouthful of bread, "It's possible that that has something to do with it."

"Really? Well, that's exciting." My mother gave a mildly impressive impression of indifference, "Why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

Another shrug, "Slipped my mind."

Another pause in her all-consuming stirring, "Slipped your mind?"

I looked up at her, forgetting, in my agitation, to conceal my 'bad-behavior-revealing' eyes, "Yea, it slipped my mind."

"Slipped your mind?" She repeated once again, this time, accompanying the apparent disbelief with a patronizing hand on her hip.

"That, " I paused for dramatic effect, "is what I said."

In response to my sudden snarky tone, my mother pulled a very parental face and turned back to her simmering pot, "I heard you loud and clear, Lillian." She made a few vast, round strokes with her spoon, "So what happened?"

I glared up at her, "What?"

"With you and Oliver."

". . . what?"

"Well, something happened." She stated matter-of-factly, "You're acting all weird and spazzy."

"_Weird_ and _spazzy_?" I repeated her choice of words as if they left a sour taste in my mouth.

She nodded, lifting her spoon to her mouth to taste, "More so than usual." She offered the spoon to me, I grimaced and shook my head. She shrugged and took another taste herself, moving her tongue around for a moment before reaching for the spice rack and adding just a little more of something dark that smelled an awful lot like cinnamon.

As she blended this new addition into the pot, she glanced at me, "So?"

I sighed loudly and tossed my bread across the table, "_What?_"

She gave me a 'don't-you-take-that-tone-with-me-Lillian-Rose' look, "Fine, play dumb. But whenever you're ready to talk just come find me and I'll be more than happy to listen."

"There's nothing to listen to, mom." I said quietly, letting my head fall into my hands.

"Mhm."

I glared at her, daring her to oppose me. She didn't say another word, just continued stirring and tasting and stirring some more. After a pause so long one would think a new topic of conversation would be justly customary, I let out a groan and thumped my head on the table.

"We had a fight. It was stupid. I was wrong, and in a few days everything will be back to normal, and we can all be hunky-dory-dairy once again."

"What was it about?"

With my face still pressed against the cool table top, I mumbled, "What?"

God bless my mother and her seemingly bottomless pit of patience, "Your little fight."

I lifted my head and propped it up with my fist, "Something stupid."

"Yes, you said that."

"So why won't you leave it at that?" I asked edgily, growing more and more frustrated with each syllable that left her mouth.

She gave a nonchalant shrug and reached back to turn down the heat under her pot, "I don't believe you." She answered simply.

"Why not?"

"You have a tell, Lilly."

"A _tell_?" All I could imagine was playing an intense game of poker where emotions sufficed for chips and the cards were razor sharp.

My mother snatched a towel from the handle of the refrigerator behind her, "When you're sugar coating the truth is the only time I ever see you scratch at your cuticles."

I looked down at my hand. My thumb had taken on a mind of it's own and was pushing at the cuticle of my middle finger.

I yanked my hand back and tucked it under my armpit, "Sugar coating?"

"Of course, " My mother smiled at me as she wiped at the excess liquid that had dripped onto the counter from her taste-testing, " because my precious little daughter would never straight out lie."

Now I understood where my constant desire to be utterly sarcastic, even to the point of obnoxiousness, came from.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, "It was a huge fight, Oliver was unbelievably wrong, and I'm not sure things will ever be okay again."

In an instant, my mother was sitting across from me, her hands folded in front of her, the remnants of my bread shoved to the side, and the sizzling blend of pungent spices left alone to get cold on the unignited stove top.

"Listen to me, Lillian Rose, " She said imploringly, "Whatever he did, know that I have never seen two people as perfect together as you Oliver." She paused to reach over and hold onto my hand in that comforting way that only mothers can, "One of you will come around." She insisted softly, "You always do."

Despite the almost hopeful feeling her fervor gave me, all I could do was shake my head, "I don't think so, mom."

"Why not?"

"I've never been hurt like this before." I told her honestly.

She studied me for a minute, perhaps waiting for the whole story, but when no elaboration came, she pursed her lips, "That bad, huh?"

I sighed, "Decidedly worse."

"Well, " She sat back in her chair, "Consider all the rest. Are the past fourteen years worth sacrificing?" She gave me moment to let her words sink into my exhausted brain before adding the customary, "Think about it."

I nodded and lowered my eyes to the table as she stood and returned to her cooking, "But take this advice, because it's the best I will ever give you."

I looked directly at her, "Okay."

"The kind of connection that you and that boy have is beyond rare." She licked some deep, red sauce from the end of her spoon, "No matter the shape it takes, its special."

She made a sound of approval before holding the spoon out to me again. This time, I leaned forward and tasted the food she offered. It was spicy, but pleasant, with an after taste that left my mouth watering and craving more.

It strangely reminded me of Oliver.

I smiled up at my mother, "Thank you."

**Awwww, mother/daughter moment thrown in the story :**

**Weeelllll...**

**Oliver is coming back..soon...**

**YOU SHALL NEVER KNOW!BWAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA!**


	32. Maybe I Missed The Punch Line

A month. One whole fucking month. Four long weeks of subtle digging and prying from my mother. Thirty-one days of sympathetic glances and overly-careful conversation from my friends.

A month before I finally came face to face with Oliver.

I was wandering absently down the hallway, late for class as always, when I dropped my pencil. It hit the floor, the soft clatter echoing through the empty hallway, and as I bent down to pick it up, a pair of worn out high-tops came into view as the owner rounded the corner.

I froze, hunched over, my finger tips brushing the side of my pencil, and stared at the hole in the toe of the right sneaker. They had stopped walking, just as frozen as me, but in a much less painstaking position.

I couldn't bring my self to stand up, or to grab for my pencil, or to fucking blink. So, obviously sensing my dilemma, his hand appeared in front of my eyes as he curled his fingers around my pencil.

I now had no excuse not to straighten and face him.

As I did, taking in slowly his torn jeans, red sweatshirt, and finally his face, chocolate brown eyes and sexy hair, all I could think was something along the lines of:

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

Oliver sucked his lip into his mouth and looked down at the pencil in his hand. I didn't move, my eyes re-evaluating every disoriented inch of him. A sick sort of satisfaction spread through me, followed immediately by a horrendous wave of guilt.

Oliver extended his hand, "I picked up your pencil for you."

My knees grew weak with nostalgia and I had to swallow the lump that had risen in my throat before responding quietly, "Thank you."

But I didn't take it from him. I didn't want to touch him. I could barely stand looking at him.

Oliver blinked at me, his face becoming more and more blank the longer he held the pencil and I didn't take it. Finally he let his hand fall to his side, fingers still clenched around the smooth wood of the pencil.

We stared at each other, his eyes narrowed and a genuine look of concern appeared on his face, "What happened to your face?"

I frowned, momentarily confused until Oliver made a small move forward, as if to reach out and touch the bruise I suddenly remembered was spattered across my cheek. Instantly, he flinched back, having temporarily forgotten the void that had been created between us.

"Oh." I mumbled, covering the marred flesh, "I . . . ran into a door."

Oliver studied me, contemplating, and then he pursed his lips and sighed. It was almost insulting how easily he believed my story.

There was an extended awkward silence during which neither of us looked directly at the other, but never removed our eyes from the other's person all the same.

Finally Oliver lifted his arm in a helpless gesture, "So, uh, how are you?"

"I'm okay." I lied, my voice giving only the slightest of squeaks, "You?"

He met my eyes for a millisecond before looking down at my pencil in his hand, "Okay." He whispered.

"Okay." I repeated softly. And even though we had always been good liars, that sixth sense found a way to creep in through our vulnerable tones, revealing the inner hurt and angst we both were trying so hard to hide.

Oliver shifted from foot to foot, and I stood unusually still. We both felt the insatiable urge to run, to get away from the devastatingly obvious pain written all over the other's face. Yet at the same time, I could feel that neither of us wanted to walk away from this chance meeting without making _something_, _anything_ just a little bit better.

Oliver was the one to break the silence.

"Lilly" He began, but never finished, because all of the sudden I was lifted off the ground, a strong arm around my waist.

I let out a squeal of shock and fear, trying desperately to keep my eyes locked on Oliver, but as I was set down, my assailant spun me to face them.

"Lilly." Drake smiled down at me. I narrowed my eyes, more out of confusion than the contempt I really felt when I saw his face. I shook my head and turned around, but Oliver was already gone.

And he had taken my pencil with him.

"Hey." Drake said, tugging my arm so I faced him again. I turned reluctantly.

"Woah, " He recoiled, "What the fuck happened to your face?"

I sighed loudly, "I ran into a door."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Wow."

"Yea, " another sigh, "It was a pretty vindictive door."

"I'll bet." .Drake surveyed my injury for a moment longer, giving me the impression that he was appraising its value. Finally I couldn't stand the eerie feeling of being a Fight Club trophy any longer.

"What do you want?" I asked him. The smile faded from his face as he leaned back against the lockers behind him.

"Look, " He sighed, "I wanted apologize for the shit I said to you at the dance. I was an asshole."

I frowned, was Drake really apologizing for his drunken behavior when my own best friend hadn't found the courage to apologize for his animalism when he was stone sober? But then again, he had been about to say something when the walking automaton speaking to me had given me a very half-asked Heimlich.

Drake gave me a rather nauseating impression of a begging puppy and reached forward to take my free hand, "I'm sorry."

I sighed, "Thanks."

I was far too exhausted by my impending doom to hold any more grudges than absolutely necessary.

Drake smiled confidently at my easily obtained forgiveness, and made a bold move by reaching up to run a hand through my hair, "Ya know, I'd like to give us another shot."

I cocked an eyebrow up at him quizzically, "Us?"

"Yea, " He laughed, "So what do you think? Can you forgive me?"

"I sort of thought I already had."

Drake laughed again, as if we were sharing some really entertaining inside joke.

I suppose . . . maybe I missed the punch line?

"Great." His hand still lingered in my hair, "So . . . "

"So."

"What time should I pick you up tonight?" He asked, that hair tangling hand coming to rest on the back of my neck.

I blinked my eyes rapidly at him, "For what?"

"Our date." He answered as if the answer should have been obvious.

"What date?" I asked, reminding that, no, it wasn't.

Drake's constant, egotistical smile grew, and he took a subtle step toward me, "You're really cute when you play dumb."

I widened my eyes and nodded, "Hmm, thanks. I must be positively gorgeous then."

Because I wasn't playing.

"You're smokin'." Drake whispered, leaning toward my ear.

Smokin'? Is that supposed to be romantic? Turn my legs into Jell-O? Isn't _Oliver_ suppose to be the 'Smokin'' one?

"But that's beside the point."

I nodded again, not totally following the conversation having missed the part where it took it's plunge into flirting and verbal foreplay, "Most thing are."

Drake frowned and shook his head with a slight laugh, "Ya know what? I rarely know what the hell you're talking about."

"Ooo you've joined the masses."

"So . . . " Drake slid an arm around my waist, and to this day I can't fathom why I let him.

"Eight then?" He asked.

I stared up at him innocently, "Eight what?"

"O'clock."

I took a large step back, out of his reach and performed a snazzy little twisting dance, "Nine o'clock rock!"

Drake ignored my musical outburst and closed the gap between us as if I had never created it. Intentionally or not.

"We could get some dinner, catch a movie."

"I don't know, " I whispered, "Those movies tend to run real fast."

Drake's arms both found their way around me, tugging me against his body and forcing the corner of my English text book into my rib cage, "I'm pretty fast myself." There was only a _little_ bit of a suggestive quality to that comment.

And for a moment, I let my thoughts take a dirty turn and a smug smile formed on my face involuntarily, _Yes, Drake, my good sir, I'll just bet you are._

Then he pressed a kiss to my mouth, stunning me into paralysis, "I'll be there at eight." And the subtlest ass-pat I have ever experienced, "Dress sexy."

I blinked slowly as he released me. Then I regained enough of what is purely "Lilly" to give my greatest attempt at coy I will ever give in my life:

"It's the only way I know how."

Seriously, I should get a fucking Oscar for that shit right there.

A sleazy smile curved it's away across Drake's mouth as he started down the hall.

Then the prospect of pulling a J.T. and attempting to bring sexy back hit me like a semi and I shouted after him, "Wait, _sexy_?"

He merely chuckled and sent me a wave, "See you tonight, Liz."

The second his back was turned I grimaced, "_Liz?_" I repeated, this time the word really _did_ leave a sour taste in my mouth. I made a gagging sound and turned to continue down the hallway.


	33. Wow, You Really Set Up A Trip Wire

**Okay, well , in order to finish this story it must SNOW in Malibu.**

**Just blame Global Warming.**

And so December ended, Christmas and New Years came and went, and I found myself participating in all of the festivities involved in aforementioned holidays despite my serious lacking of Holiday Cheer. Drake was invited to every major party throughout the season, and as his official girlfriend, I was vicariously invited as well.

Officially.

And so I forced myself to suffer through the sociality; armed with a fake smile, stagnant perfume and a large purse full of antidepressants.

The only thing that kept me from leaping in front of a speeding Greyhound at any given time during winter break was the abnormal lack of snow.

Abnormal as in, I lived in Malibu. Snow was more common there than rancid, inappropriate sunburns at a nude beach.

And 'during winter break' as in, four days back into the school routine, we were hit with a Bumble of a snow storm.

So the first day of February, I squatted at the edge of my back yard, tying the end of a roll of heavy-duty twine to the pole of my old swing set.

The crunching of boots on snow behind me barely deterred my attentions as I practiced a crude rendition of a Clove Hitch knot.

Hey, I might have been an M.I.A. Girl Scout, but I had recently become engrossed in the Boy Scout Manuel.

Well, I got through the table of contents anyway.

"What are you doing?"

I didn't need to look up to recognize Mitchel's voice, "Setting up a trip wire." I answered, twisting some of the thick wire around my finger.

"What for?"

The wire cut into said finger. I shook it off and stuck my finger in the snow, "Snowmobilers."

"Snowmobilers." Mitchel repeated.

"Snowmobilers." I said again, wrapping the wire around the pole three more times.

Mitchel squatted down beside me, "May I ask why?"

"Of course, but I can't guarantee that you'll fully comprehend the answer."

"I expect no less."

I grew frustrated with the Clove Hitch and resigned myself to the much less difficult 'mess-of-regular-knots-and-nicked-off-flesh' Hitch.

I lowered my voice menacingly as I gave him my reason, "I despise them."

"Snowmobilers?"

"Snowmobilers."

Mitchel reached forward and picked up my large roll of thick twine, "How come?"

"They sound pollute the air within my ear shot."

"Savages." Mitchel sighed, turning the spool around in his hand.

I searched the snow bank for a moment before realizing he had pilfered it. Grabbing it from his hand like a toddler grabbing back his favorite Lego, I nodded my head, "Exactly."

"So what happens when they hit the tripwire?" Mitchel asked, resting back on his heels and folding his hands in front of him thoughtfully.

"They die." I answered nonchalantly.

Mitchel made a contemplative and understanding face, "Tragic."

I stood up, finally satisfied with my cluster-fuck of knots and headed across the alley, "I suppose."

"Does Drake snowmobile?" Mitchel asked from his perch back by the swing set.

As I crouched down again, pulling the line tight, I paused to gaze at the bright blue sky, "I never considered that."

Mitchel stood and took a few steps to lower himself onto a damp wooden swing, "Maybe you should find out before he cruises on over here and disfigures that pretty face of his."

"Ahh, wouldn't that be unfortunate?"

"You're dating correct?"

I glanced up at the insinuation in his tone, then returned my attention to the new mess of sharp string and specks of precious knuckle blood I was creating around my neighbor's chain link fence, "Is that what you kids are calling it these days?" I shook my head, "I'll never keep up."

I heard the swing creak as Mitchel pushed himself backwards with his foot, "When did this happen?"

"You tell me. You've obviously been paying better attention than I have."

"Are you crazy?"

The twine sliced into the skin on my palm, "Define crazy."

Mitchel got up and trudged his way through the two feet of snow piled high in my backyard due to malicious snow plows, "Lil, come on."

I looked up at him and bit back a laugh as he stumbled into a cleverly disguised chasm, bringing him knee deep in gravelly snow.

He grumbled and attempted to lift his leg out of the hole, resulting in an awkward sort of Weeble ballet.

I like to call; Swan Weeble . . . Weeble Lake . . . or maybe, The Weeblecracker.

Whatever you call it, poor Mitchy ended up drenched and dirty and even less receptive of my humorous forestalling.

After he sent me a rather malevolent glare, I managed to camouflage my laughter as a hiccup and paused in my rabid trap setting to sit back on my heels and smile up at him innocently.

"Alright, we started going out a little over a month ago."

"Why?" Mitchel asked almost absently as he dusted snow from his pants and hat.

I shrugged, "I don't know . . . because he apologized." I laughed and slapped my hands down on my thighs, "All he did was call me a name. _**I**_ was wrong, technically, and he apologized and M---" I cut myself off, choking on the name before it came out.

Mitchel had ceased his mad arm flinging and was staring down at me sympathetically, "I'm sorry, Lil."

I shook my head, partially to discourage _his_ pity and partially to discourage my own. I turned back to my wire, "I just want a shot at being happy, ya know?"

"How's that going?" Mitchel asked softly, gesturing to my knot-tying but meaning my pursuit of happiness.

I scrunched up my face as I tried to free my pinkie from a particularly nasty accumulation of wire, "Not extraordinarily well."

It was true of both.

Mitchel sighed and bent down to help me. It took him a matter of seconds to unwind the sharp twine from around my finger, and as I stuck it into my mouth to nurse it back to it's maximum utility, he gazed at me directly, making me feel unpleasantly exposed.

"But you're going to stay with him."

I hesitated before picking up my spindle of wire and wrapping even more around the fence, " . . . for now."

Mitchel shook his head disapprovingly, but didn't utter another word against my decision. Instead he arched his neck to look behind him at the tight line of string that ran across the alley.

"Wow, " He mused thoughtfully, "You really set up a tripwire."

I let out an overdramatic sigh, as if his lack of automatic belief in me was draining, "I told you, I despise them."

He reached forward and gave the wire a pluck, "Obviously."


	34. I Woke Up Spooning My Granola Bar

That weekend, Friday night to be exact, after two hours of irritating phone calls from Drake, who just wouldn't accept the excuse of 'washing my hair', I ventured out into the freezing cold with the sole purpose of surviving another high school kegger.

However, I'd recently run out of maximum dosage anti-depressants . . . so a bottle of Mountain Dew would have to suffice until we actually _reached_ the party.

"Are you okay?" Drake asked as we party-parked just down the street from the host's house.

I shot him a sideways glance, "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You're kind of twitching." He pointed out. We got out of the car, some of us more reluctantly than others, and started toward the door.

"You're so sweet." I grabbed for his hand, for assurance that he _could_ not abandon me in the crowd of his soul-eating peers.

"I was just asking."

"Well it's probably because I didn't get to wash my hair."

"It is a little greasy."

"And who's fault is that?" I glared at him and made a beeline for the Dew.

The line wasn't long. In fact there was only one massive linebacker between me and my precious, precious Mountain Dew. He wasn't filling a cup, but he was standing very inconveniently in front of the tap, having what I'm sure was an overly stimulating conversation with a blonde bearing gifts of double D's and pigtails about the amount of horsepower his brand new pick up had versus the horsepower of her puny little sting-ray.

Of course that was just what I picked up before jamming my elbow into his ribcage and covering his shouts of alarm with the song "London Bridge" as I happily filled a transparent, purple plastic cup with yelow, sugary Mountain Dew.

Now, I would never attempt to deny my enthusiasm for drinking, but for the record, and I want this duly noted, I had never been what one might call an alcoholic. I had always known my limit and stuck to it, protecting myself from public displays of humiliation and avoiding possibly virtue threatening situations; but since my falling out with Oliver, the thin line between 'just having a few drinks' and 'man, she's had a few' grew blurrier and blurrier every time Drake brought me to a party.

Therefore, not long after my first drink, I was halfway through my fourth, and not even contemplating the prospect of slamming down my plastic cup and slurring "I've had enough!" I was getting less coordinated then even my usual self, so I plopped down on the putrid green sofa next to a boy who looked far too much like my uncle Steven for my liking.

"Having a good time?"

I looked away from my uncle's long lost twin to see Drake settling himself down on the arm of the couch beside me, smiling and holding a full beer in his hand.

I nodded and reached for it, "Give me what's left of your beer and we'll see."

Drake laughed, "I love a girl who can hold her liquor."

"Well, " I sipped the beer and cringed at it's warmth, "let me know when you find one."

"I already have, Lil."

I let Drake take his drink back and have a sip of his own before stealing it back and shaking my head, "About tha---"

But before I could complain about his blatant disregard of my pre-bestowed nickname, Drake leaned down and planted one on me.

He pulled back, looking very smug and pleased with himself, and all I could do was sip the drink in my hand and reply lamely, "Way to play the sneak attack."

Drake must have taken my response to mean _something_ complimentary, because his smirk grew and he leaned back against the wall, "Good, huh?"

"Wet anyway."

"I love that you have no problem admitting I have that affect on you."

I cringed again after a relatively large swig of luke-warm beer, "Elijah Wood has that effect on me too but he doesn't let it get to his head."

"You're so funny. I love it." Drake chuckled.

I glared up at him over the rim of my cup, "You're sure wearing out that "L" word."

Drake turned away for a second, looking down at his hands shyly, "Maybe I'm trying to tell you something."

And for some reason, none of this seemed all that strange to me. There was no feeling of impending doom at all as I stared up at him, Doe-eyed, jaw slacking, and gasped, "Like what? Should I sit down?"

"You're already sitting."

I smiled and took a drink, "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not strong enough."

Drake gave a nervous laugh and faced me slowly, "Lilly, I love you."

Finally the dread seeped in and I immediately panicked, "This morning, I woke up with the munchies, so I went downstairs and got a granola bar and brought it back to my room with me, but I fell asleep again before eating it."

"Ok . . . " Drake stared at me, only slightly dazed and confused.

"I woke up spooning my granola bar."

"Uh . . . " Suddenly he was at a loss for things to love about me.

I gave him a sweet smile, "I'm just trying to let you know where my heart truly lies."

"With a granola bar?" Drake asked skeptically.

I shook my head, "Not just _any_ granola bar. It was _my_ granola bar. Plus it was chocolate chip."

Finally he grew tired of my rambling and let out a truly devastated sigh, "Liz, I'm trying to tell you something serious."

And I thought, _How the hell am I supposed to take him seriously if he keeps calling me 'Liz'?_

But instead I said, "I ate it eventually."

Drake, not entirely in favor of that response to his attempt at sincerity, gave a sound I can only describe as a 'harrumph' and grabbed my chin firmly, "Look at me." He demanded.

"Ok."

"I love you."

Dead silence ensued. Even the rambunctious party goers seemed to quiet down for the appropriate cricket chirping moment.

But it was February, and there were no crickets to chirp for us. So I simply stared at him, pretending that if I just didn't move, he might forget I was even there to begin with.

He didn't.

"For real."

The clarification was only slightly appreciated. And did nothing to enhance my ability to verbalize my shock and alarm.

"Are you drunk?" I asked quietly. Like I said, nothing.

"No."

Still, nothing.

"I'm drunk."

His brow furrowed, he looked a little worried, "Are you going to remember what I just said tomorrow?"

Drake got the hint. Monumental, man.

I turned toward the beverage sloshing solemnly in my cup, "I kinda hope not." I mumbled.

"What?"

"I said I kinda hate nuts. Or . . . I don't know . . . "

Drake sighed, "Well . . . do you have a response?"

Cue the nonexistent crickets.

"Anything?"

Let the crickets know they have some extra chirping to do come spring.

"If you can't answer for real right now then don't say anything."

I nodded a big old Can Do.

"Wait until tomorrow."

Another wave of dread washed over me, "Tomorrow?"

Drake smiled, "Yea. And if you can't remember I'll just tell you again."

"You will?" I was getting really worried and suddenly the alcohol in my cup was looking even more attractive than before.

If that was even possible.

Drake placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me what was meant to be a reassuring squeeze, "Yea."

Staring into my cup, I stifled a foreboding sigh, "Great."

Now all I have to do is avoid another person for the rest of my life. No big deal. I can manage that.

Drake slid off the arm and onto the couch next to me, gently pushing me aside so he could fit. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and tapped the cup in my hand, "Finish your drink."

I fought the urge to cry and lifted it to my lips, "That I can, and _will_, definitely do."


	35. Hokey Pokey Is What It's All About

Unrequited love is something I've always felt I have quite a bit of experience with. But usually from the losing perspective. As it happened to be with my latest semi-romantic encounter, I was at a severe loss.

It was rather upsetting.

And even more so upsetting, when I wandered into my backyard on Saturday afternoon, I discovered that my beautiful tripwire had been cut.

Talk about rude. Who disables someone's booby-trap? Seriously.

So, in an eerily subdued state of pure rage, I went into my garage to find my father's paintball gun.

If you asked me why he had a paintball gun at the ginger age of forty-nine, all I would be able to tell you is that he was hanging on desperately to his youth. For one reason or another. Although personally I'd think it would be more effective to wear over-sized jerseys and a backwards baseball cap and say things like "yo, my home-dawg, fo' shizzle." But again, that's just me.

As I dug through boxes in search of ammunition, I felt even more unhappiness and unsatisfied feelings creep under my skin. That morning I had walked to the post office to mail an obscenely late Christmas present to my crazy Aunt Maisy for my mother. When I entered the small, warm building, I froze in place upon seeing Oliver standing in the corner, sifting through a handful of mail.

He didn't turn, so I forced myself to walk around the corner and into the main office. Standing at the counter, I could see the lobby out of the corner of my eye, and as he left, he turned and for a split second, our eyes met.

And in that spilt second, I saw his eyes flash from bored, to sad and desperate. I saw his face fall and his body slouch. I felt my stomach drop with need and longing for his companionship. I missed him so much that it physically hurt.

But because of that spilt second, I knew he missed me too.

Seeing him hurting gave me a strange sort of feeling that perhaps, with time, everything would be alright again.

So there I was, stuck halfway between agony and optimism. I mean, that's the thing about love, right?

With hurt comes hope.

I finished loading the paintball gun and trudged my way back through the snow and onto my back porch. I squatted down behind the railing, aimed the gun at the center of the alleyway and waited impatiently for someone to come along.

I had been out there for almost an hour, had shot about five snowmobilers with orange and yellow paintballs, and couldn't feel my fingers by the time Mitchel showed up unannounced with a mug of coffee in his hand.

He surveyed my Apocalypse Now style operation before handing down the coffee and sighing, "This is new low, even for you."

I accepted it gratefully and glared up at him, "You think I'm not aware?"

"Well there's nothing like stating the obvious to get your day going right."

"I eat Wheaties." I handed him back the mug and reached for another set of hot pink paintballs.

Mitchel laughed, "No face paint?"

"I thought that might be a bit much." I sighed as I loaded, "Besides, I'm not going for subtly. I _want_ them to know who's at the other end of this gun."

"Here comes one." Mitchel pointed.

I cocked the gun, "I got him." And shot, hitting his left leg. He howled and toppled off of his snowmobile, which shot out from under him and continued on down the alley. The rider got up carefully and shot a rude hand gesture in my direction.

"Walk it off, Speed Racer!" I shouted as he limped after his machine.

"You know, one of these times, they're bound to come over here."

"They won't get far." I mumbled, menacingly cocking the gun.

Mitchel shook his head and settled himself on a chair near the door, "This vendetta against snowmobiles is getting a little out of hand."

I shrugged and set the gun aside, settling myself back against the post of the railing, "I have no problem with the machines in themselves."

"Just the poor souls riding them." .

"Pfft, poor souls my ass." I scoffed, "They should know better."

Mitchel sipped his coffee, "Come on, Lil, in the great scheme of things is that really such a big deal?"

"Well, no." I admitted, "The hokey pokey is what it's _really_ all about."

"Well if you're gonna get all technical about it."

I sat up at the sound of another snowmobile, "Technically, that yellow snowmobile would look a lot better with hot pink polka dots."

"Most definitely." Mitchel sipped again, casually, at his coffee and watched me take aim and peg another defenseless snowmobiler in the leg.

After we watched him cry out in shock and slight agony and gimp his way after his runaway ride, I ran my thumb over the barrel of the gun and looked shyly up at Mitchel.

"Uh, Mitchy?" I asked quietly.

He looked down at me and swirled the cup around thoughtfully, "Uh, Lilly."

"I want to ask you something . . . " I mumbled and looked down at the mess of paintballs lying in the snow around my knees, "It's weird, but I figured that out of everyone you would have the most experience with this particular situation."

He nodded understandingly, "What's up? Buying a hat?" He chuckled.

I narrowed my eyes up at him, "No. You're dumb. I'm trying to be serious."

"You never initiate serious conversation."

"It's gonna blow your mind."

Mitchel smiled, "I enjoy a good mind blowing from time to time."

"Good, " I sighed, "Buckle your mental seatbelt." I turned around to shoot at a passing snowmobiler, "Drake told me he loves me."

Mitchel nearly shot hot coffee out of his nose, "What?!"

"Drake loves me." I repeated unenthusiastically.

"Like . . . for real?"

"Or so he claims. Although I'm pretty sure his classification of reality differs from that of the general public."

Mitchel looked a little baffled, which was a little insulting, but finally he let it sink in and shook his head, "So why do you think I have the most experience with this particular situation?"

"Well, " I began, rolling a pink paintball between my fingers, "I need to somehow tell him that I don't love him without crushing him. I figured you've been in his place a few times and could . . . I don't know, give me some of the lines girls have used on you."

Mitchel stared at me, open mouthed.

"You're stunned to silence . . . I know, who'd have thunk I would ever have the power to break a big ol' hunka, hunka burnin' love's heart, right?"

"It's not that, " Mitchel growled, "I'm just trying to decide how to hit you without getting shot."

I smiled at him, "Tricky, but we all have our goals."

Mitchel glared at me, "So is this real or did you just need an excuse to insult me?"

"I never need an excuse to insult you." I answered sweetly.

"I sort of hate you."

I flung myself onto the snow and grabbed at his sneaker, "Just help me, Mitchy!"

"Okay, okay, " He sighed and set the mug of coffee down beside him, "Alright, just . . . tell him. It's not something you can easily bypass without at least a minimal amount of crushage."

I sat back dejectedly, "Fuck."

"Only as a last resort."

"What?"

"To soften the blow." Mitchel said matter of factly.

I held up my gun threateningly, "I'll blow you."

"Gah, Lilly."

I lowered the gun, "I didn't even say that."

"Not even." Mitchel shook his head and picked up his coffee again, offering it to me.

I took it and stared down into the dark liquid, "I hate my life."

Mitchel tugged his hat down over his eyes, "Thats the most depressing thing in the world."

"No, " I sighed and sipped the hot coffee, "The most depressing thing in the world is when you reach the bottom of a juice box."

Mitchel peered out at me under the brim of his hat, and his eyes shot sideways as we heard the distinct revving of a snowmobile engine.

I started to get up but Mitchel stopped me.

"Can I shoot this one?"

I stared at him a moment before shrugging and handing over the gun, "Wow, be my guest." I watched him crouch down by the railing, "I never thought you would actively participate in one of my schemes."

Mitchel smiled as he fiddled with the gun, "Just doing my part for the deconstruction of America." His smile faded as he grew confused, "How do you"

The gun went off, but luckily Mitchel had pointed it toward the alley, and it hit it's target in the shoulder. He yelped and flew off his snowmobile.

I nodded approvingly, "You've joined the Dark Side."

Mitchel stared after his paintball, "That was fucking awesome. Did you see him fly?"

"Now shoot his helmet while he's lying there."

Mitchel aimed and shot just as the fallen boy pulled his helmet off his head. The bright pink paint hit him in the forehead, spattering all over his blonde hair. He let out a scream and Mitchel chucked the paintball gun to the side, "Shit!"

I leapt up, "Fuck!"

"Into the house!"

"Lock the door!"


	36. The One And Only Lilly Rose Truscott

I managed to avoid Drake for almost a week before he showed up at my bedroom door with flowers and an expression on his face as unreadable as cheesy fan-fiction written by pre-pubescent emo girls.

But for undeniably different reasons.

Or so I've come to discover from hours of late night internet scouring.

The lapse in three a.m. phone calls and window rendezvous with Oliver had given me far too much free time.

Shouldn't these girls be playing hopscotch? The world has changed so much since I was twelve.

"Are you avoiding me?"

I sat up from my leisurely position on my bed, my chemistry book toppling to the floor in the process and stared up at Drake, "What would give you that idea?"

Drake plucked at the flowers he clutched in an almost shy manner and leaned against the doorframe, "You haven't talked to me in days."

"I've been busy." I lied.

"We have three classes together."

"Yea and finals are coming." I stretched, knowing none of those three classes were getting all that taxing in any sense of the word. Drake just fixed me with his imploring eyes and I found myself feeling not only irritated but slightly guilty.

A decidedly unpleasant combination.

Especially when you've established yourself as a particularly self-righteous teenage girl.

Or not so much self-righteous as stubborn and ridiculously pig-headed.

Either way, when it came to Drake in particular, I didn't like the thought of being the asshole of the relationship. I mean, it was _Drake_. If I was becoming the greater of our two evils then something was severely out of whack with the universe.

However, despite this inner revelation I remained, and probably always will remain, the One and Only Lilly Rose Truscott. Clever, obstinate, and always offensively evasive. So I sighed, leaned over to collect my discarded book from the floor and gave my beau Drake one more chance to retract his complaint.

"I don't get why you would think I was _avoiding_ you."

Drake frowned and for a second, his tone got edgy and patronizing, "When I called your name today you looked right at me and ducked behind the fat foreign boy."

There's the Drake I started dating to spite my best friend.

Seems like so long ago.

Instead of acknowledging his incriminating statement, I got up and made my way over to him, pretending to be preoccupied with getting my hands on those flowers when really I was just stalling for time. I don't know what I thought might swoop in and save me, but it seemed like, if given enough time, _something_ reasonably would.

"Lillian?" Drake asked softly as he let the flowers go, "Did I do something wrong?"

I took the flowers over to my dresser and set them down carefully, fiddling with the heads for a moment before turning around and finally facing the reality that I was indubitably on my own.

"No, Drake." I sighed loudly, "You didn't do anything wrong."

He just watched me, completely unconscious of the potential ego-crushing that was to come.

I lifted my arms and let them drop helplessly, "Look, I remember what you said at that party."

"Yea?" Drake squinted at me, suspicious, but not quite comprehending.

"I'm sorry, Drake, you've been great, really." And I had to pause a moment to fully take in the underlying truth of that, "But I don't feel that . . . strongly . . . about you."

Drake still stared at me, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, jaw set; the perfect picture of serious contemplation. A boy so obviously trying desperately to put together the pieces of a puzzle recommended for people just over his age limit. I almost wanted to hug him. But then he took two large steps to the dresser and snatched the flowers back, petals floating to the floor as they were shaken loose from their stems.

"I knew you were in love with that skinny piece of shit Oken." He grumbled as he shoved past me on his way back to the door. I stumbled into the side of my bed, my knees buckling against the edge of the mattress, and as I bounced in a state of confusion usually reserved for drug sniffing dogs at a Columbian coke rally, all I could manage to say was something along the lines of:

"Oliver isn't _that_ skinny."

Before Drake stormed out the door he turned around and shot me a very dirty look, "I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

I had already begun to wonder if I wasn't the real village idiot.

Drake looked back at the flowers he had confiscated, and a brief look of melancholic understanding passed over his face. He sighed and walked back into the room.

I started crawling backwards on my bed, afraid that maybe all that testosterone was beginning to bubble over and he was going to beat me to death with daisies.

But Drake just set the bouquet on the bed by my feet, "Or maybe I am." Then he went back to the door, "Bye, Lilly."

And Drake was officially no longer my beau.

Officially.


	37. It's An Unfair World Winnifred Beagle

The night after Drake and I broke up in an almost amusingly cheesy romantic movie fashion, I snuggled into the deep chasm of my couch to drown my feelings in an Al Pacino movie marathon. What better way to detoxify your brain than counting the numerous effenhiemers uttered by Tony Montana?

Absolutely nothing in my opinion.

And just as Michael Corleone was about to assume supreme underworld power, my mother and father came laughing and stumbling into the house.

They had been at some engagement party of some college friend or so and so and yada yada. I had been cordially uninvited probably because of the more than proficient amount of alcohol that had quite obviously been served and was the reason for my parents blushing faces and absurd giggles.

"Have a good time?" I asked them, craning my neck around to watch them curiously over the back of the couch as they attempted, fruitlessly I might add, to remove their shoes and coats.

My mother choked on a rather terrifying chuckle and fanned at her face, "The party was _boring_." And then she tripped on her heel and nearly ended up sprawled across the rug.

My father caught her clumsily and nearly crushed her under his weight in his attempt to save her from a severe bruising, "I had forgotten how much I loathe Brett Jenkins."

"Psh." My mother sputtered and scrunched up her face distastefully, kicking her shoe off and into the living room where it landed about three feet from the couch, "_Brett_ is _boooooriiiinnng_!"

I smiled at them and reached for the remote to pause my movie so I could devote all of my attention to their awkward, tipsy dance toward the stairwell.

"But he _knows_ his liquor." She continued and pointed a finger straight at me, "He _knows_ his _liquor_." She insisted. I nodded, wide eyed and she nodded back in what I assumed then and still assume now was satisfaction that I believed her fervent story.

My father slung an arm around my mother and helped her up the first few steps, having quite a difficult time with it being that there was no one left to help _him_.

"The brandy saved the _whole_ damn party." He exclaimed profusely and tilted sideways against the railing. It let out a relatively loud creak that made me debate insisting they sleep on the couch instead of risk breaking the stairs.

"It'll probably save the whole damn marriage too!" My mother screeched, letting out a ridiculously loud howl of a laugh. My father immediately joined in and laid an almost embarrassing kiss on her mouth.

"They aren't like us." My father sighed between surprisingly chaste kisses. My mom sighed and squeezed his cheek.

"I love you." She giggled. He gave her another kiss in response and they continued on their journey up the treacherous stairs.

"Goodnight, Lilly, my love!" My mother shouted down behind them and my dad gave a half mumbled 'goodnight, Princess' as he tossed his shoe down the stairs.

I let my head rest against the couch and stared after them. They may have been pretty drunk, but it was still plain and easy to see that they were in love. Even after nineteen years of marriage, they were still insanely crazy about each other.

My parents were living proof of love.

But given my own experiences with anything remotely related to the aforementioned emotion, I had been having a very hard time believing in it period.

Of course, I was feeling it. I hated it, but I was feeling it.

Was it really possible that love could be so pure and beautiful like with my parents and yet so wretched and painful for me?

I let out a long, unhappy sigh and turned back to the TV.

As I made my way into the school that Monday, I had an overwhelming feeling of dread pass through my body. Just knowing that I would be without someone to hide behind when Oliver passed in the crowded hallways made my stomach drop and my legs turn instinctively toward the bathroom in case I needed to vomit.

"Lilly, did you get notes last week in Chemistry?" Mitchel asked as he crept up behind me. I glared at him over my shoulder and forced myself to turn that miniscule millimeter away from the bathroom and toward my locker.

"Isn't it customary to begin with 'hello, Lilly, how are you? the weather is particularly nice today, '" I blinked at him sporadically and twisted the combination lock.

Mitchel just stared at me. As if he didn't understand a thing I said. Then he smirked and tugged his hat down over one eye, "Hello, Lilly. How are you? The weather is particularly nice today."

I smiled approvingly, "Hello, Mitchy, I am utterly _fantastic_, and the weather _is_ oppressingly nice today isn't it?"

"So the notes?"

I sighed and reached up to the top shelf in my locker, "Why didn't you take any? You were there on Friday."

"I was distracted."

"With what?"

"I was texting Summer." He blushed and accepted the notebook I offered.

Another gagging example of a happy couple. It would be so much easier if everyone were outright miserable right along with me. But _noooo_ they just all had to go and be _happy_ and _in love_. And it just _had_ to work out for them, didn't it?

But not me.

"So I heard through the grapevine that you and the atomic beefcake broke up."

I squinted my eyes at Mitchel and slipped the shoulder strap of my bag over my head. He may have very unorthodox ways of expressing himself, but he also must have sensed my discomfort and felt the responsibility to change the subject.

Sort of.

Come to think of it. . . he did a pretty shitty job of it.

I sighed and closed the locker, "Yea, Friday after school."

"Why?"

"It wasn't working out. Our views on Janet Jackson are far too different."

Mitchel laughed, "Let me guess, Drake was irrevocably pro breast pop."

"You might think so, but you'd be surprised."

I started toward my first hour class with Mitchel in tow, babbling quietly about the movie he and Summer had gone to see that weekend and how this weekend I should go to a concert with them. I nodded and smiled and laughed all the while consciously searching the halls for Oliver. Hoping that if he came around a corner I could duck behind Mitchel or the water fountain or maybe that fat foreign boy would happen along at the exact opportune moment again and all would be well. But instead of Oliver the first person I saw was Alexis.

And Nick.

Holding hands and laughing.

And again I fought the urge to either puke or cry.

To this day I can't decide which was more overwhelming.

I just didn't see why it was so hard for me to have that. Why couldn't I make Oliver understand? Or make myself understand? Why couldn't I be the one to make the first move toward reconciliation? Why couldn't I have tried just a little harder with Drake? Why did I even _think_ that that would have been an option?

"You okay?" Mitchel asked. I shook my head and tore my eyes off of Alexis and Nick.

"I'm just thinking." I said softly.

Mitchel eyed me carefully, "Look, this whole thing sucks."

I glanced at him but couldn't meet his eyes.

"For all of us." He sighed and scratched at his head thoughtfully, "But no one expects you to be the first to move."

I stared at him. How did he read my mind like that?

Mitchel smiled at me, "We just . . . hope that everything gets easier for you. That things work out somehow for you." He reached up and gave my arm a squeeze, "Both of you."

I nodded and smiled tiredly as we made our way into the crowded classroom.

Two hours later I was feeling unbelievably exhausted and emotionally drained from not only physically dodging every possible encounter with Oliver but shutting myself off from all coupley moments that might make me want to crawl into a black hole and die.

I paused at my locker and stared down at the lock, the numbers started to run together and I almost opted to just pass out rather than try and decipher my combination. I let my head fall against the cool aluminum and contemplated the benefits of sleep verses gym class exercise.

"Lilly?"

I heard the voice of a girl behind me and didn't move, praying that I could just disintegrate into my locker and she would turn around and walk away wondering 'where the fuck did she go?'

"Lilly."

Damn, she was persistent.

"Huh?" I mumbled, my face against the wall.

I felt a soft tap on my shoulder, "You're Lilly Truscott, right?"

I turned my head to see a younger girl watching me expectantly. Her brown hair was pulled back in an almost adolescent-esque ponytail but her outfit screamed the song 'I Wanna Be A Supermodel'.

She smiled, "Of course you are. I'd recognize you from a mile away. Drake only showed me your Homecoming picture ten thousand times."

I frowned and stood up straight, "You know Drake?"

"Yea."

"Aren't you like . . . thirteen or something?"

"Sixteen actually." She corrected calmly, "I'm a sophomore."

I nodded understandingly, "Huh . . . I always knew there was something shady about him but I still never pegged him for a cradle robber."

"He's not." She shifted the books in her arm, "We're not dating."

"Ah, I see, keeping it on the D.L., eh?" I wiggled my eyebrows and winked at her like a co-conspirator.

She gave me a sarcastic smile, "It's less complicated. I'm his sister."

My stupid smile vanished and I glanced from side to side, making sure no one else was audience to my idiocy, "So I just stuck my foot in my mouth then?"

"Remotely, yea."

"My bad."

The girl laughed and tossed her ponytail, "Shit happens."

I nodded and rocked back and forth awkwardly, unsure of where this conversation was meant to go or what her purpose was in confronting me. I was trying to decide whether or not running was going to be necessary, but before I could make that decision, she moved into my only escape route. So I clicked my tongue and smiled at her, "So . . . I'm Lilly."

"Yes, and I'm Whitney."

"_Whitney._" I snapped my fingers, "Ok, yea I knew that actually."

"Uh huh."

She didn't appear to believe me.

Semi-insulted by this, I shoved my hands into my pockets, "So what's the dileo?"

Whitney quirked her eyebrow at me, "The _dileo_?"

"You act like you don't know what I mean."

She gave me an appraising look, "Drake said you were a little out there . . . " She shook her head, "I had no idea."

"He was always such a sweet talker." I fluttered my eyelashes and turned to my locker.

As I turned the locked deliberately, Whitney leaned against the locker beside mine, "Speaking of my brother . . . "

Oh boy.

"I just want you to know that he really cares about you."

I opened my locker and faced her, "I know that and I---"

"He's not such a bad guy. Kinda dumb, I know---"

"Well---"

"---a bit of a meathead---"

"Maybe---"

"---he can _sure_ be an asshole---"

"Whitney---"

"---but my point is . . . " She paused for a breath and I relaxed a little because I had begun to become concerned for her health, "I've known Drake for a long time, sixteen years as a matter of fact, and I've never seen him this torn up over a relationship gone wrong."

I waited a moment to make sure she had finished this time before leaning against my own locker and crossing my arms, "'Gone wrong' is a bit of an understatement." I paused, "Of course 'relationship' is a bit of an exaggeration as a matter of fact."

Whitney mimicked my crossed arms, "I kind of noticed as a matter of fact."

"I suppose it was relatively obvious as a matter of fact."

"It never appeared to be one hundred percent mutual."

I moved back into my locker and stuffed my notebook into the shelf, "I'm still shocked that it ever seemed even eighty percent mutual."

"Maybe seventy-five." Whitney mused thoughtfully.

"I had my money on forty, really."

"I just wanted you to know that he's not all bad." She insisted calmly.

I smiled and assured her, "I know that."

"I'm just making sure." She sighed and straightened, "I didn't want you to have broken up with him because you thought he was all ass and no heart or something like that."

"You're a fabu sister."

Whitney gave me that quizzical look again, "Fabu?"

"I know no one's said it since the eighties but I'd like to bring it back."

"I dont think _anyone's_ said it, _ever_."

"The correct response it 'thank you'." I told her, widening my eyes and nodding slowly.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

And thinking the conversation was over I closed my locker and turned to go.

"So Oliver Oken, huh?"

I froze in place.

It sounded as if I was very wrong.

" . . . what?"

Not my best work, but I had been in quite the slump lately and 'what' seemed to _almost_ work every time.

"Well you dumped my brother for him, didn't you?"

I looked at Whitney in what I'm sure came off as pure shock and some well placed dread. Then I ran a hand through my hair and did my best impression of someone being casual.

"'For' is a relative term."

"But that's what happened, isn't it?" She pressed, "You guys fell for each other?"

I glanced down the hall nervously, "There in lies the real mystery."

"I don't understand."

I laughed dismally, "Join the club, sweetie."

Whitney frowned as if this whole thing was ridiculous, "If the two of you like each other then what's the problem?"

As if it was that simple.

It wasn't.

Right?

I shook my head, "It's complicated."

"I'm sixteen not six." Whitney crossed her arms again and jutted out her hip, "Give me a little more credit than that?"

I smiled involuntarily at her indignation, "Okay, but have you seen every teen movie ever made starring Jennifer Love Hewitt?"

"Fortunately not."

I sighed and shook my head in mock disappointment, "Well, so far my dilemma is following the basic plotline of Can't Hardly Wait. Except I'm the lovesick semi-nerdy boy and Oliver is J-Love. But my fool proof letter got lost somewhere in a big box of packing peanuts." I paused and ran through the movie in my mind, "And there's no obscenely short whitey, wanna be gangster making sexist wisecracks in the bathroom. Unless you count Nick, but . . . frankly I just don't think he looks good in goggles."

Whitney just stared at me, open mouthed with a look of awe and, if I'm not mistaken, a bit of admiration on her face, "Wow."

"That's it?" I asked huffily, "Do you have any idea how long it took me to put that analogy together?"

"I kind of thought you were just pulling it out of your ass as you went along."

I scowled at her, "Cheeky monkey."

She laughed out loud, "Ok, another wow, I _never_ thought anyone would _ever_ call me that."

I nodded in agreement, "I never thought I would ever _call_ anyone that."

"First time for everything." Whitney chuckled, clearly amused.

"Most things anyway."

She shook her head, still a bit baffled, "So you're in love with Oliver Oken."

I sighed for the millionth time that day, "To put it mildly."

"But there's some huge dilemma."

"Gargantuan."

She narrowed her eyes at me, "I thought you guys were friends. I used to see you two together all the time."

"It's all part of the ever thickening plot."

"So you fell in love with your best friend." Whitney leaned back against the lockers and looked at me, reflectively, "And just when things started to, seemingly, go your way, the world began to simultaneously crumble from under your feet."

This sixteen year old girl had just put into very simple words exactly what I hadn't seemed to be able to for almost five months.

All I could do was nod.

Her face softened considerably, "It all sounds so terrible. I'm sorry."

I shrugged, wiping at my eyes in fear of an eruption, "It's an unfair world Winnifred Beagle."

Whitney blinked rapidly at me, "Pardon?"

I immediately launched into another ridiculous monologue:

"Winnifred Beagle is an imaginary stuffed platypus I tell all my problems to. She very rarely has any answers, but it's nice to just talk, to get it all out of my system." I explained quietly, taking a moment to reflect on the story before frowning and giving her a shocked look, "Who the hell am I kidding? Winnifred Beagle _never_ has any answers. She's stuffed, and imaginary . . . not to mention the fact that she's a platypus."

"That." Whitney began, "Was the single most bizarre thing I have _ever_ been privy to hearing."

I bowed my head, "I aim to please."

"And apparently shock and slightly disturb."

"When the moment's right."

Whitney shook her head slowly at me, probably debating whether or not I was entirely for real. Then she closed her gaping mouth and stood up, taking a step toward me, "So if you happen across my brother in your insane travels, could you say hi?"

I pulled my hood over my head, "I'll scream it at the top of my lungs."

"Thank you." Whitney smiled and turned to go, but stopped and turned back, "Can I make a plot related suggestion?"

I shrugged a little helplessly, "I can't see how it would hurt." I answered honestly.

She watched me for a long moment before taking a quick breath and speaking, "Talk to him." She said simply, "Tell him how you feel before it's too late." Then she laughed lightly, "That may sound really dark and ominous, but . . . I really believe that love is rare. Not to mention true, honest friendship." She met my eyes, "You should talk to Oliver."

I maintained our eye contact for a long time before I narrowed my eyes at her and cocked my head to the side, "Sixteen?" I asked suspiciously.

Whitney grinned, "And one quarter."

"You're wise beyond your years."

"I'm like a Shoulin monk."

I jumped, as if given an electric shock, "Speaking of peaceful, nonviolent protests, I'm late for P.E."

"Obviously your favorite." Whitney gestured to my wrecked sneakers.

"Totally, so if you'll excuse me, I have to go _not_ play wiffleball." I gave her a curtsy and took a few steps down the hall.

Whitney returned the goofy gesture, "Good luck with your plot decoding." She began walking away backwards, "I hope you make it."

I stopped and have her a genuine and grateful smile, "Thank you." I said softly. She nodded and spun around to jog toward her class.

I watched her disappear into the sea of bodies and let a long, deep breath out of my body.

I wonder if Whitney writes fan-fiction .

Late that night, probably more along the lines of three a.m. actually, I sat in my room, cross-legged on the floor, staring at my telephone.

Little Whitney's words kept spinning in my head.

So far no one, although extremely helpful and caring, had told me so plainly to talk to him. Had put into words something so simple that I couldn't find any real reason _not_ to give it a try.

Unless they had and I had merely missed it for fear of rationality screwing up my brooding.

There were no lights on in my room. I didn't want to be able to see myself falling apart over something as harmless as a telephone.

I reached forward timidly and picked up the receiver. The hollow dial tone echoed in my ear and I closed my eyes and pressed the first button.

I could still dial his number without even looking.

My finger hovered over the last digit, and I opened my eyes. That one more little number and the hardest part would be over. Then it was up to Oliver to answer.

But would he?

If my name scrawled across the screen would he ignore it? Would he be surprised and excited, or terrified? Or angry?

Of course I would never know unless I finished dialing.

I pressed down firmly on the last number and felt my heart stop beating as I listened to the ringing begin.

It rang once.

Twice.

And on the third ring there was a click, and that all too familiar voice, groggy with sleep or strained with lack thereof.

_"Hello?"_

Immediately I slammed the phone back down onto the cradle.

I panicked.

I didn't know what to say to him. Even as I dialed millions of feelings and expressions had flooded my mind, but the very instant I heard his voice, they all disappeared and I was left with nothing but terror.

I sat painfully still in the silence and darkness around me, staring again at the phone. I waited. Thinking and hoping that maybe he would call back.

I waited for so long my ankles began to ache from the pressure of my thighs crushing them to the hard floor, but I couldn't bring myself to move from that spot.

And then it rang.

I still couldn't bring myself to move.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

And no matter how many times it kept ringing I couldn't make my hand reach forward to pick it up.

Finally, after six rings, it stopped. And there was nothing but silence again.

I didn't wait for it to ring again. I got up off the floor and pulled the cord from the wall.


	38. AN

I've been busy with school and such.

I'm just noting that this story WILL BE CONTINUING.

Tjorvasen : I'm NOT explaining what happened to Miley. Because she doesnt exist in this story. So, you could say this is AU.

Update proably Friday.

Or Thrusday if i'm in the mood.

Oh!

I could just give you an itsy bitsy privew..

**Title**: To Err Is Human

The very next afternoon, I was given the rare and titillating opportunity to eavesdrop on the single most ear burning conversation of my life.

I was trudging along on my way to the bathroom for a little break from my last long hour of the day, one garbage can and a corner away from refuge, but as I rounded that corner I not only spotted but heard Oliver, loud and clear, say my name. I hastily dove behind aforementioned garbage can to do some serious, and profoundly sneaky, snooping.

"Mitch, I don't know how much longer I can do this." Oliver confessed solemnly. He sounded completely drained.

"Yea, I know the feeling." Was Mitchel's equally tired response.

There was a soft banging sound as I assume Oliver let a hand or his head fall carelessly against a locker, "I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind."

"Well, there's a pretty simple solution."

"There's _nothing_ simple about any of this."

And a rather loud banging sound only seconds before Mitchel exploded furiously in a very un-Mitchel-like way, "Oh _come on_!" He hissed frantically, "Stop being so fucking melodramatic." He paused, and I could clearly picture him tugging agitatedly at his hat, "Look, I know you don't like to hear this kind of shit, Oliuver, but you're being a complete fucking moron. You fucked up, man! You got freaked out and panicked and fucked up!" The vehemence with which he spoke perked my curiosity even more and I shifted to peer over the garbage can. Oliver was standing with his profile to me, leaning back sheepishly against the lockers, staring at Mitchel with eyes so big with shock at his outburst I had a brief fear that they might explode from his head.

Mitchel had his hands on top of his head, which he shook from side to side, frustrated and irritated. He flung an arm out toward Oliver as if trying to physically show him the way, "It's not like it's never happened before and it's not like it's never going to happen again. But Lilly's not goddamn Satan! She understands that to err is human and that you, " He gave a mocking laugh, "Are undeniably human." Then he sighed apologetically, "Give the girl the benefit of the doubt as well as the chance to forgive you."

Oliver shook his head slowly and turned in my direction. I ducked quickly back down and hunched myself into a ball against the faint stench of the garbage. I heard Mitchel give a frightening growl, frustrated by the defeat in Oliver's gesture.

_To be continued..Friday.._


	39. To Err Is Human

The very next afternoon, I was given the rare and titillating opportunity to eavesdrop on the single most ear burning conversation of my life.

I was trudging along on my way to the bathroom for a little break from my last long hour of the day, one garbage can and a corner away from refuge, but as I rounded that corner I not only spotted but heard Oliver, loud and clear, say my name. I hastily dove behind aforementioned garbage can to do some serious, and profoundly sneaky, snooping.

"Mitch, I don't know how much longer I can do this." Oliver confessed solemnly. He sounded completely drained.

"Yea, I know the feeling." Was Mitchels equally tired response.

There was a soft banging sound as I assume Oliver let a hand or his head fall carelessly against a locker, "I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind."

"Well, there's a pretty simple solution."

"There's _nothing_ simple about any of this."

And a rather loud banging sound only seconds before Mitchel exploded furiously in a very un-Mitchel-like way, "Oh _come on_!" He hissed frantically, "Stop being so fucking melodramatic." He paused, and I could clearly picture him tugging agitatedly at his hat, "Look, I know you don't like to hear this kind of shit, Oliver, but you're being a complete fucking moron. You fucked up, man! You got freaked out and panicked and fucked up!" The vehemence with which he spoke perked my curiosity even more and I shifted to peer over the garbage can. Oliver was standing with his profile to me, leaning back sheepishly against the lockers, staring a tMitchel with eyes so big with shock at his outburst I had a brief fear that they might explode from his head.

Mitche; had his hands on top of his head, which he shook from side to side, frustrated and irritated. He flung an arm out toward Oliver as if trying to physically show him the way, "It's not like it's never happened before and it's not like it's never going to happen again. But Lilly's not goddamn Satan! She understands that to err is human and that you, " He gave a mocking laugh, "Are undeniably human." Then he sighed apologetically, "Give the girl the benefit of the doubt as well as the chance to forgive you."

Oliver shook his head slowly and turned in my direction. I ducked quickly back down and hunched myself into a ball against the faint stench of the garbage. I heard Mitchel give a frightening growl, frustrated by the defeat in Oliver's gesture.

"I mean, fuck, Oliver! You think _you're_ losing your mind?" There was another pause, as if he was waiting for a nod, "_You_ don't know how much longer _you_ can do this? Try being in the cramped, sweaty ass middle of it!"

I bit my bottom lip nervously.

"I am _sick_ of pretending I don't hang out with you when I'm with her! And I'm even _more_ sick of having to tell you, word for fucking word, everything she says concerning you when I'm with you!" He laughed madly, "It's ludicrous! You two are absolutely _stupid_ for each other but through some sick twist of fate you're _too_ stupid to get your accumulative shit together and just _be together_! It's just . . . _fucked_."

I wanted to peek at them again, but instead I sat on my hands and listened over-intensely to the hotwired air between them as Mitchel probably paced for a moment before turning his back to Oliver and trying desperately to regain some of that calm, laid-back cool that my Mitchy has always been famous for.

Finally, Oliver responded hoarsely, "Mitch, man . . . I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"No, you wouldn't, would you." Mitchel mumbled sullenly, "Maybe you should try apologizing to _her_"

I wrenched a hand out from under myself and began to chew my cuticles.

"I _do_ try!" Oliver insisted, "Every fucking day I see her and I want to . . . but I just remember how she looked that night. So beautiful and so fucking . . . betrayed." He went quiet for a moment, perhaps struggling for words, "And _**I**_ did that to her. I caused it. I made her feel that way, _twice_ for Christ's fucking sake, and I just . . . I can't face her."

I glanced down at my finger's absently, I had chewed down an entire nail.

"You have to eventually." Mitchel's voice rang out in the empty hall, calm and cool and infinitely reasonable again, "Things can't stay this way. Things can't _end_ this way."

"I know." Oliver mumbled softly, then, more intensely, "I know, _I know_, _**I know**_! Fuck!" He groaned, "I know., I just . . . god, why did things have to change in the first place? Why did any of this year have to happen at all?" He asked Mitchel beseechingly, "Life was good before, ya know? Things were perfect. Everyone was happy and now . . . "

Mitchel made a scoffing sound, "Are you really so blind? Not _everyone_ thought life was perfect before."

"I don't--" Oliver began, but Mitchel cut him off.

"Of course you don't." He sighed, "Lilly loves you."

"I know."

"No, Oliver, she---"

"Mitchel!" Oliver stopped him mid sentence, objecting to further clarification, "I know." He finished softly.

There was silence. For far too long. I sat stiffly on the cold tile floor and waited impatiently for one of them to speak. My heart pounded in my chest and my fingers ached from my incessant gnawing.

Finally, Mitchel cleared his throat, making me jump in surprise after the long anticipation.

"Look, man, I'm sorry about . . . unloading on you like that."

Oliver laughed, "It's cool, Mitch."

"You sure?" He asked apprehensively, "I know I got kinda worked up."

Another genuine, echoing laugh from Oliver, "_Kind of_? Shit, dude, I was starting to get scared." They shared a chuckle and I slid a little further down the wall. "You've been holding that in a long time, huh?" Oliver asked thoughtfully.

"Yea." Mitchel answered.

I heard the soft sound of flesh clapping on clothing and crawled onto my knees to visually spy on them once more. Oliver had his arm slung over Mitchel's shoulders lovingly.

"Well, don't worry, Mitchster." He gave Mitchel's head an affectionate ruffle, "I got a plan."


	40. I Don't Think They See What You Do

The weeks flew by as I waited, decidedly _im_patiently and edgy as hell, for Oliver's master plan to be put into play. Not to say that I knew for certain that it was particularly masterful in any sense of the word, but having known Oliver for fourteen years gave me plenty of evidence towards the suggestion that it was far and beyond the customary mastery most eighteen year old boys were capable of putting together.

Needless to say I was crawling right the fuck out of my skin.

Life continued in what I had sadly come to refer to as 'normal'. I went to school, Oliver-less, I practically napped my way through my classes Oliver-less, and I went home, my world still depressingly void of Oliver.

And every night I waited in my room by the phone, chewing my nails and scratching absently at the bruises developing on my knee caps. Mitchel and Alexis expressed their concern for my wellbeing numerous times, and were always met with the same response.

An overly cheesy smile and words of assurance, drenched in false confidence, that I had not, in fact, lost my will to live _or_ my steadily deteriorating mind.

The slightly less numerous times they showed up at my house made it quite obvious that they were not to be fooled.

Still, they wouldn't over stay their welcome. Just silently re-affirm that I was alive and functioning and then excuse themselves so I could get back to my seemingly infinite waiting.

And it _did_ seem infinite. Because in spite of Oliver's declaration of a plan, and my excruciatingly passive acceptance of the fact that time was necessary in order to put together such extravagance, nothing was happening.

Nothing.

Everything just continued.

Just exactly the same as before I had eavesdropped.

As if I had never heard a thing.

But I _had_. I _knew_ something was coming. I just didn't know how much longer I could wait before I spontaneously combusted.

It might actually come as a relief.

Unfortunately, spontaneous combustion isn't nearly as common as they make it out to be on Comedy Central. So I was forced to keep on waiting in agony.

And waiting.

And _waiting_.

Aaaaaannnnnnndddddd

Waaaaaiiiiiiitttttiiinnnngggg.

When the weather started to get warm again, I started to feel hopeless. Even more hopeless than I had when all of this had begun. More hopeless than in the middle of it all. I came to the devastating conclusion that Oliver had decided to forgo his plan. He had decided that no one was worth it. Especially not me.

Alphabetically, the letter "J" does not come anywhere near the letter "Dear God Kill Me Now". But apparently our principle watched the crack head version of Sesame Street when he was growing up, because my seat for the ceremony was right next to Katie Carlo.

The scrawny and pasty little Michael Ishmael was, for obvious reasons, graduating with honors, something that had been a previous goal of mine but was inevitably discarded for the much less achievable goal of salvaging any amount of dignity I could after my drunken binges with Drake, and was therefore, seated in the very front of our class.

Katie made a very concentrated point of not looking directly at me, but constantly giving me the stink eye at the very same time.

I wanted to ask her how she found the time to practice simultaneous indifference and acknowledgment with all those other really significant activities she was involved in, not to mention the severe lack of a single thought floating around in her stupid little blonde head . . . but just as I opened my mouth, the valedictorian, one beautifully primped, painted and curled Summer Van White, took her place in front of the podium and started her speech.

I glanced sideways at Mitchel, he was absolutely glowing.

It made me a little sick.

What made me even sicker was the fact that I hadn't seen Oliver at the rehearsal earlier that day, and I still hadn't spotted him in the bright lights that surrounded the lamely decorated football field.

I scanned the heads of my classmates, trying to pick him out somewhere in the red colored sea.

I spotted Nick, slumped down in his seat with his tassel in his mouth and a Game Boy in his hands. I could barely see David's long hair sticking out from under his graduation cap in the front row beside Michael Ishmael, and I found Alexis sitting with my parents and Oliver's mom in the stands.

But I couldn't find Oliver.

Of course there was always the simple explanation of myself being neurotic and anal.

But let's not go there.

Suspicion and paranoia fit me so much better.

A loud roar of clapping and cheers erupted in the stadium as Summer concluded her speech, and I stood with the rest of the student body to applaud her magnificent and inspired speech that I hadn't even heard.

As we sat back down, I felt hot breath against my ear and an awfully disturbing shiver spread up my spine.

"I guess it doesn't matter how skanky you are." Katie's voice crooned softly, "Sometimes Prince Charming just doesn't go for it."

Well, so much for taking the high road.

I turned slowly to face her as the first names were rattled off, "I guess it _doesn't_ matter how skanky you are." I leaned very close to her, "Sometimes Prince Charming just wants to go make out with another girl and humiliate you in front of the people you try so desperately to impress on a daily basis."

Katie's face scrunched up with momentary rage before a heinous and evil smile spread itself across her lips, "He's still not yours." She said sweetly, "What happened, Lilly-pad? Did your master plan fall a little short?"

My stomach fluttered with her words, remembering all that waiting I did for nothing, and a pang of something unbelievably embarrassing shot through my chest, because she was right after all. He still wasn't mine.

But instead of letting the regret and defeat I felt show on my face, I squinted my eyes and stared pointedly at her lip, "Katie . . . that's the beginning of a really tremendous mustache."

And to add a little insult to injury, I reached forward and brushed my forefinger over her upper lip.

Her eyes popped out of her head, and with a barely muttered "Bitch" she twisted in her seat to face as far away from me as possible.

But I got a giggle every time I saw her hand sneak up to her mouth.

Finally, my name was called and I walked soberly up to the podium, took my diploma, shook three people's sweaty hands, and returned to my seat just a little more soberly, because even though I clearly heard Mitchel, Alexis, Nick and my parents shouting for me, Oliver's distinctive voice was not among them.

The ceremony crawled onward. I watched Mitchel rise and take his diploma, and I took freakish pleasure in participating in the shouts of "Oh my god he actually made it!" and "Sweet now we'll have _good_ weed at the party!"

Mitchel just held the paper above his head triumphantly before taking off his square graduation cap and chucking it into the air. The principal made only the slightest of moves to protest his timing, but even his face was graced with an amused smile when Mitchel pulled a trucker hat out from under his gown and tugged it over his hair.

Seven successful students later and the principal called Oliver's name. It echoed out loud and hollow through the air around us. No one moved. It almost frightened me how everyone seemed to know about me and Oliver. Seemed to sense the tension and significance of his absence. The entire stadium remained absolutely silent.

I could hear the crickets.

Of course, _now_ they're all talk.

I stared up at the principal, expecting him to clear his throat awkwardly and make some excuse up for the last remaining graduating senior's disappearance, but he said nothing, just stood there calmly, staring right back out over the class.

I started to grow nervous. The paranoid Sci-Fi movie freak inside of me suspected alien infestation. Or that time had perhaps even stopped, and then I scanned the crowd for my parents and caught sight of Oliver's mom grinning down in my direction.

My eyes shot sideways to see that Mitchel was no longer in his seat, and Nick had abandoned his Game Boy.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, the loud rhythmic sound of a guitar tuning up came through the speakers surrounding the stadium, followed by Oliver's voice filling the air around our heads.

"Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band, "

And I nearly shit my pants.

"Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man, "

The entire student body was twisted around in their seats, watching something behind me. I turned carefully to see a very makeshift stage adorned with Mitchel and Nick, still clad in their grad gowns, and Oliver Oken.

What he was wearing is of the least importance.

"Ballerina, you must have seen her, dancing in the sand, "

He was singing for me. For _me_

He wasn't very good. At all. But he was doing what Oliver did best, something grand and meaningful, and shockingly flamboyant.

Not to mention slightly embarrassing.

But I was worth it.

"And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand . . . "

His eyes never left mine throughout the entire song, and when it finally finished, I quickly brushed tears off of my cheeks as the stadium went insane with applause.

The principal managed to calm the crowd down enough for the closing address, but even as the hats flew into the air, and cheers swallowed everything within hearing distance, all I could do was stare at Oliver.

And he just stared right back.

Finally people began filing out of the stadium and Oliver lifted his bass over his head and set it down beside Mitchel's guitar. He stepped off the stage, leaving Nick and David to finish packing up the secondhand equipment, and walked slowly and cautiously toward me, his hands stuck in his pockets and his hair falling into his eyes.

When he reached me, I stood up and tugged my cap off of my head, just so I would have something to hold on to tightly as the world spun around me.

"Hi." Oliversaid quietly.

"Hi." I repeated. We stood there for a moment, just watching each other squirm before finally I gestured to Oliver's jeans and sneakers, "I see you've dressed for the occasion."

Oliver gave a soft laugh, "I lost my gown."

"Lost?"

"Okay, me and Mitchel were boarding in them and his got all torn to shit. So I gave him mine."

I nodded, "How chivalrous of you."

Oliver shrugged shyly, "We all know how I like to be the hero."

"Sometimes more than others." I mumbled before I could stop myself. Oliver looked up and met my eyes, an expression that was a mixture of hurt and shame on his face.

I decided to get back to a subject a little less touch and go.

"Well at least you don't look like a cherry tomato."

Oliver laughed, "Red was never really your color."

"Yea well, I never went for what they said in those girly magazines anyway." I crossed my arms over my chest, my cap hanging from my pointer finger, "They're bad for your health, fills girls with fimage."

"Fimage?"

"Fake image. It's really quite serious."

"Sounds it."

I shrugged nonchalantly, "Well if Oprah does a special on it you can rest assured that it's no joke."

"Yea . . . " Oliver chuckled, then his face got almost frighteningly serious, "I miss you, Lilly."

And for some reason, I couldn't help but be a little nasty, "Do you?" I asked condescendingly.

Oliver knew me too well, all he did in response was give me a heartbreaking, pleading look.

I let out a long sigh and dropped my arms to my sides, "I miss you too."

His face lit up immediately, "Yea? God, Lil." And he took a large step toward me, "I really need to apologi - "

I stepped back instinctively, "Stop." And he did, "All is forgiven."

"Really?" Oliver asked timidly, "Because I would never do anything to hurt you, Lils."

"Well, you did, Oliver." I retorted a little helplessly.

"Not intentionally." He whispered.

I nodded, a small smile on my face, "I know."

Oliver chewed his lip for a moment before smiling, reassured, and reaching into his pocket.

"I found this." He held out his hand to me, and when I looked into his outstretched palm, I saw the tiny silver "L", but instead of being on a chain, it was on a thin, black string.

My heart sank a little, because if he found it on my porch he must think I hated him, and because I was ashamed at the way I just tossed it away like some cheap piece of trash. But also I was overjoyed to see it hadn't been lost forever.

I took it from his hand carefully and glanced up at him, "When?'

Oliver cleared his throat, "The morning after . . . the dance." He paused somberly, "I came to see you, but I got scared . . . I found it stuck in a crack on the porch."

He had come to see me the very next morning? For a moment I hated him for getting scared and not knocking on the door, for abandoning all reason and making the past few months of my life, of _our_ lives, a living hell. Then I looked up at his face, _Oliver's_ face, so close to mine for the first time in six months, and I couldn't be angry.

I smiled and clutched the necklace to my chest, "Thank you."

Oliver nodded, and a few more seconds of silence ensued before Oliver cursed and ran a hand through his hair.

"That night I . . . I was just getting so sick of pretending stuff didn't happen--I know I was an idiot--but I was kinda . . . freaking out, ya know?" He looked down at me beseechingly and I nodded in understanding so he went on, "And at the same time, I don't know, it just seemed easier to . . . pretend everything was normal. Pretend nothing had changed. Between us."

I know my eyes were popping out. As big as golf balls about to explode from my skull. I wanted to say something, _anything_, but all I could do was remind myself to breathe.

Oliver tugged at his bangs and turned away from me for a moment before shrugging apologetically, "I just got caught up in how good you always make me feel. I feel like I'm _worth_ something when I'm with you." He tried to smile, like what he was saying wasn't as deep or as personal as it really was, but it faded as quickly as it came and he reached forward to touch my cheek, "The way you look at me . . . like I matter."

I still had absolutely nothing.

For the first time in my life, I had been rendered positively speechless.

It was freaking me the fuck out.

"I like the way you look at me." Oliver said again, a little baffled by my inability to respond as well as probably enjoying that he had no competition for the floor, "Nobody else has ever looked at me the way you do." His hand was still on my face, and his moved his thumb out to stroke my skin just under my left eye, "Like you see something other people can't." Then he laughed, "Maybe that's just because you've always taken the time to try . . . I don't know, all I know is that for the past six months I've been waiting to catch someone else looking at me like that and . . . they just don't." He sighed and let his hand drop to his side as well as his eyes to his shoes, "I don't think they see what you do."

I shook my head slowly, "All I see is you."

"Then you're the only one who really does." Oliver chuckled again and held up his hands before I could even attempt to speak, "I know that people love me, Lilly. And I know what you said about the world seeing something special, but . . . I've fucking searched and _nobodies_ eyes sparkle the way yours do when you look at me."

I felt my breath hitch in my throat and my sparkling eyes well up with tears of pure joy.

"Ol--"

But Oliver still wasn't quite finished, "I'm not nearly as great as you think I am." He laughed, "But the fact that you _honestly_ think I am . . . is the greatest fucking feeling in the world." He gave another soft laugh and placed his hands on either side of my face, his face growing so serious that for a second I was afraid of what he was about to say.

I think my heart stopped beating.

"Being away from you . . . " Oliver took a deep breath, "made me realize that . . . I'm in love you, Lil."

No fucking way.

His words echoed inside my head, heard but not quite registered. Oliver just stood there, holding my face in his hands and searching my eyes patiently, waiting for it all to sink in. When it finally did, I let out a loud sob and wrapped my arms around Oliver's neck tightly.

Oliver's arms found their place around my middle and he pulled me as tightly as possible against him. He kissed me roughly on the mouth and then pressed his lips against my ear, "So I guess this means you love me too?"

I let out an almost hysterical laugh and jerked my head back to get at his mouth, pressing another firm, over the moon kiss to his lips.

" Oken, you have no fucking idea."

* * *

Next chapter is the end of the story.

It went by so fast..


	41. Finale Finally

Sighs Here it is..

* * *

That night, at three a.m. actually, Olicer and I lay in my bed, holding hands in the dark, just listening to each other breathe. It was the most serene moment of my life. All of the things I had been wishing for since I was three years old had finally happened. All of the shit I had gone through over the years, from the mundane to the freakishly monumental bits of shit that occurred over the past five months alone, were actually worth it, because at that very moment I was lying next to Oliver. I was holding Oliver's hand tightly. I was breathing his breath. I could feel the heat of his skin.

I could finally say that I was Oliver's.

I smiled into the pitch black of my bedroom and gave Oliver's hand a soft squeeze. He squeezed back and I heard him laugh quietly through the silence.

"This is so crazy." He whispered.

I nodded, and realizing he couldn't see me, added a barely murmured, "Yea."

"But it's a good crazy." Oliver assured me, rolling onto his side and pressing a kiss to my temple, "A perfect crazy."

"Perfectly crazy." I laughed, turning my head toward him to receive a soft kiss, "I'm glad you finally think so."

Oliver grinned, so broadly that I could see the whites of his teeth through the darkness. He kissed me again before relaxing onto his back again. Once more we listened to each other's quiet and steady breathing, our hands still clasped firmly, and Oliver's thumb stroking gently over mine. I would have closed my eyes and fallen asleep in seconds if I wasn't afraid to wake up and find it all had been just a dream.

I wanted to soak up every minute of this.

"What about Drake?"

I turned to look at Oliver, slightly shocked by his question. What _about_ Drake? He didn't matter in the slightest. Not anymore.

Oliver's head turned slowly to face mine, bringing our noses a mere centimeter apart. His eyes almost glowed in the sliver of moonlight that snuck between my drawn curtains, and I could tell he was chewing on his lip.

I smiled at him, "I don't really see how he fits into the equation, but if you wanna give him a ring then be my guest."

Oliver snorted, amused by my response probably only because it was so purely "Lilly". He shifted in the bed, lifting his arm above my head and tucking it down around my neck. And I curled right into him.

"Aw, I would, but then it might be a little cramped in here." He chuckled, burying his fingers in my hair, "Besides, he looks like a biter."

I tilted my head back to look at his face, "And you're so sensitive."

"I cry when I watch Milo and Otis." He confided seriously, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Talk about star crossed lovers."

Oliver laughed, his mouth against the top of my head, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like weak cologne and chocolate, just like always. And I took advantage of that instant to inhale that scent that was purely Oliver. That aura I had been without for so long, and missing more than I could have ever imagined I would.

Amazing how a person can miss a smell.

Oliver's arm tugged me closer and I shivered as his lips grazed my ear.

"Seriously, Lil." He whispered.

I sighed loudly and propped myself up on my elbows to stare down at him, "Seriously what?" I asked softly, only the slightest bit of exasperation showing in my voice. I laughed feebly, "What _about_ Drake?"

Olicer looked up at me calmly and shrugged his shoulders, the sheet wrinkling under his back, "Well . . . I mean, are we like . . . " He trailed off and his eyes shifted toward the pile of discarded clothes lying on the floor beside my bed.

I followed his gaze, gave a thoughtful pause, and then pinched him. He yelped and batted at my hand.

"Yea, Oliver, I kinda hope so." I snarled, giving him an indignant look. He smiled and laughed, holding up his hands submissively.

"So Drake's out of the picture?"

I rolled my eyes and dropped back down onto my side, wrapping my arms around Oliver's middle. I touched my lips to his chin, trailed a line along his jaw until I reached his ear.

"Baby, " I whispered, "He was never even in it."

Oliver turned his head and met my lips with his, "It's just you and me." He told me sincerely between kisses.

I pulled back for a moment and nodded, "Yea." And I took a second to revel in that reality before finishing, "You and me till the wheels fall off."

* * *

I heart you all, thanks for being so awesome. I can't believe it's over . . .

I'ma freakin cry dude!

You've all been great..

I'd like to thank..:

Emily Osment for being drop dead beautiful

Mitchel and Emily for doing HM

Era's long message

Everyone who reviewed

Emily! I LURVERS MY EMILY. LOLIVER MOJO!

Nicole! ILY!

Olivia! MEEEHHHH HOEEEE.

My friend Mitchell for letting me use him in the story

God.

Metro Station's CD

And everything else!


	42. Important memo,  really

Hey, guys.

I was writing a sequel, but i'm not really wanted here.

Airgo, no sequel.

Some people have taken me to the point on here, i'm crying while writing this.

I'm thinking of deleting my account. period.

People take my antics seriously, and make me feel bad.

So, bye guys..nice being here..i guess.


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